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hopelesshawks · 3 years

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Physical Fatality Part 12- Grief

18+ Hawks x fem, pro hero!reader

Summary: You’re a rising star in All Might’s agency. Hawks is the darling of Endeavor’s. By virtue of your job descriptions, the two of you are supposed to hate each other, or at the very least be cautiously neutral. For a long time that’s exactly what the two of you did. You stayed out of each other’s way and formed little opinion of the other. One fateful night at an HPSC gala changes all that. Based on the album Hopeless Fountain Kingdom by Halsey.

If you don’t want to see Physical Fatality content blacklist #hopelesspf

This story will have multiple NSFW parts so it is 18+ ONLY minors dni

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Over the course of your relationship Hawks has seen you pissed off quite a bit. He’s seen you mildly annoyed, he’s seen you decently irritated, and he’s seen you practically rabid with rage. He is intimately familiar with the spectrum of your anger.

And yet all of those times combined cannot compare to the level of rage he sees in you now.

Red Riot, who Hawks now realizes must have arrived with you, rushes to Bakugo’s side to check on him. Only once you’re positive Hawks and Bakugo won’t lunge at each other again do you unceremoniously drop Hawks to the ground. “What the fuck is your problem?” you demand as you storm over to him. “Look I’m sorry but-“ he starts but you don’t let him finish. “There shouldn’t be a ‘but’ in that sentence Hawks why the fuck are you fighting Bakugo of all people? You could’ve killed him!” “Technically he could’ve killed me too, let’s not make him sound helpless.” “That is NOT the point Hawks.” “Right yea no, of course it isn’t. Look I’m sorry things got out of hand but-” “Out of hand? OUT OF HAND? Your lack of self awareness is genuinely fucking phenomenal my GOD.” “Christ will you fucking listen to me instead of cutting me off every fucking time I try to speak?” “You don’t get to make demands right now! You know all this shit reflects back on me!” “Right your precious fucking reputation.” “Yes! My job relies on it remember!” “Could you forget about All Might and the press and whatever else for one goddamn minute? Our relationship is fucking drowning in it!” “What fucking relationship? I don’t even know what the fuck this is anymore.” “What are you on about now?” “We’re not lovers Hawks! We’re just strangers with the same damn hunger to be touched, to be loved, to feel anything at all and it’s gotten genuinely pathetic now.” “Pathetic?” “Yes pathetic! Because clearly we aren’t supposed to be together!” “Says who?” “Look around you Hawks! Apparently fucking everyone and everything!”

Your words seem to echo around the two of you, both of your chests heaving in the wake of the argument. Both of you had forgotten yourselves for a moment and as awareness creeps back in you suddenly can feel the eyes of every reporter and civilian in the area boring into you. “What are you saying (y/n)?” Hawks asks and his voice is heartbreakingly quiet, hands clenched into fists. “I’m saying this is done,” you reply. “Don’t do this, please, I love you and-“ “No you don’t Hawks. You might think you do but you don’t. We love love and the idea of it and for fleeting moments between the arguments and the press and our bosses and everything else we thought we had it but we don’t. Or at least it’s not strong enough to out weigh everything else. I’m sorry,” you sigh before turning away. Cameras flash and reporters shout questions but you ignore them all as you walk over to where Kirishima is helping Bakugo up off the ground. “(Y/n)-“ Bakugo starts to say but you cut him off. “Don’t. I’ll deal with you after we get you patched up,” you tell him before you and Kirishima start walking him back to your agency.

Hawks stares after you, feeling frozen in place as you leave him behind and take his shattered heart with you. “Told you so,” Monoma suddenly taunts from beside him. Hawks jumps, having not noticed when Monoma had come down from the building’s rooftop. Hawks whirls around to face him, grabbing hold of the collar of his shirt. “Ah, ah, ah, don’t you think you’ve done enough damage?” Monoma asks cheekily, jerking his head towards the still flashing cameras. Hawks’ grip tightens momentarily before releasing the other man. Unfortunately Monoma has a point and Hawks really isn’t eager to make things even harder for you. “Don’t worry bird boy, I’ll invite you to our wedding,” Monoma tells the other man before flouncing away, pleased with himself. Hawks tells himself the best he can do now is wait for you to calm down and talk to you then so without another word and before he can do anything else to worsen the situation, he takes off back to Endeavor’s agency and hopes the others from the task force will have good news to share.

The first words he hears when he walks into the meeting room on the top floor are “You’re a fucking idiot” from none other than Shoto Todoroki himself. “I really don’t want to talk about it,” Hawks sighs. “You’re the only one. Pretty much every gossip blog and news outlet ever is talking about it,” Tokoyami tells him. “Headlines are all about how (y/n) is rubbing off on you in the worst possible ways and speculating about your break up,” Midoriya adds in, an unspoken accusation buried beneath his faux neutral tone. “We didn’t break up, she’s just upset,” Hawks denies, desperate to be right. “Really? Looked like a break up to me and the thousands of people who’ve already read the articles and the few dozen people that watched this whole train wreck you started,” Shoto quips. “Can we please just focus on the mission? Please tell me you got good intel,” Hawks sighs. “Since some of us are capable of doing our job, yes. Luckily for you the terror group is in the building we were watching and since you and Kacchan drew so much attention to the other building they think we’re way off base in our search for them. We should be able to make a move by this weekend,” Midoriya informs him. “Great. What now?” Hawks replies. “Now we wait to move out and I go back to my agency to reassure my probably panicked best friend,” Midoriya bites out before handing the last of his operation notes to Shoto and storming out.

“Jesus, I thought Deku was a puppy,” Hawks remarks as the door slams closed. “Midoriya’s always been scary when he wants to be, he’s just also very genuinely kind,” Tokoyami shrugs. “Which is exactly why being on his bad side is a nightmare,” Shoto points out. “Thanks Shoto. Really making me feel better.” “I wasn’t trying to make you feel better. In fact you should feel bad.” “I’m gonna call her,” Hawks sighs as he pulls out his phone to dial your number. The first call rings for awhile before going to voicemail. So does the second. The third is sent straight to voicemail. The fourth doesn’t even go through as he’s promptly alerted his number has been blocked. Hawks swears and tosses his phone onto the table in frustration. “I must have really crossed the line,” he sighs. “You think?” Shoto asks with a raised eyebrow.

“For the record I threw the first punch,” Bakugo admits somewhat sheepishly as you dab at one of several cuts he sustained during the fight. “Unprovoked?” “Obviously not.” “Then it doesn’t change anything. And you’re not off the hook either, what the fuck were you thinking?” you question as you start bandaging him up. “I don’t know, Monoma was being a little shit which got Hawks all worked up and then I tried to get him to back down and we both got worked up and well... you know how that went,” he admits. He watches as your phone lights up again with Hawks’ contact info. You grab it, sending him to voicemail again before blocking his number and putting your phone back down. “Are you sure about breaking up with him?” Bakugo asks and you can tell by how uncharacteristically gentle his voice is that he’s concerned. “I.... don’t know. In a perfect world I’d love to take the time to unpack all of this bullshit and work it out with him. I already know I’ll miss him. I’ll miss the mornings with him laying in my bed and the thought of a forever him and me but I bet all he’ll miss is my body,” you confess. “Don’t you think you’re not giving him enough credit?” “Probably. But I can’t sit at home and be his housewife which means I have to focus on salvaging my career. I’m lucky All Might is out of the office, gives me time to try and think up a sales pitch.” “You’re a good hero (y/n). All Might knows that.” “He also knows he gave me an ultimatum,” you point out. You finish off bandaging Bakugo up and he looks as if he’s about to say something else but you resume talking before he can. “I’m going to head home and lie low. Hopefully I’ll still be employed next time you see me,” you sigh before giving Bakugo’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze and walking out.

The video of you and Hawks’ break up is already viral by the time you get back to your apartment.

You walk straight past the living room, completely ignoring your concerned roommates, and head right into your room. Your phone alerts you to several no doubt concerned texts from Midoriya but you ignore them all as you collapse onto your bed. You lie there for awhile, letting your phone ping almost incessantly with concern from your friends and all the news alerts mentioning your name. When your ringtone cuts through all the other alerts you almost ignore it, assuming it’s Midoriya calling to check on you. Your heart sinks when All Might’s name flashes on the screen instead. You take a deep breath, stubbornly ignoring the way it rattles in your chest, and then answer the phone. “(Y/n)....” All Might starts. “I know,” you answer. “We had a deal.” “I’m a good hero. You know I am.” “I know you are. But we had a deal. I’m sorry.”

Numb.

Achingly,

Heart wrenchingly,

World endingly,

Numb.

That’s how you feel as you listen to All Might continue to justify his decision without actually hearing a word he’s saying. You vaguely register apologies and talk of the agency’s reputation, but for the most part you’re too busy feeling your entire universe crashing down around you to pay much attention to his words. You don’t know how long it’s been when you finally register that he’s been calling your name. “(Y/n)! Are you alright?” All Might presses. You don’t answer. You hang up your phone, face still blank, as Denki and Mina appear in your doorway. They both look you over for a long moment before wordlessly climbing onto your bed to join you. They cuddle up on either side of you and only once you’re safely wrapped up in their arms do you finally allow yourself to break. You mourn the career you worked so hard for as sobs wrack through your body. Your chest and ribs burn with the force of it but the feeling is nothing compared to the bitter grief of losing your job. As your friends hold you, you utter only one heartbreaking phrase between sobs:

“What am I if not a hero?”

Author’s Note: 🥲 we’re getting close to the end game now everyone, and boy oh boy does it hurt

Taglist [open]: @akkaso @cathy8taffy @eeppff @iikillerkitteh @pixelwisp @pokesosa @lildockel @bread0nhead @lavender-moon13

#hopelesspf #hawks #wing hero hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n

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hb-pickle · 3 years

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Frozen 2: Dangerous Secrets Review Essay

Why Sensitivity Readers Are Always Necessary

Before I start, I would like to make it very clear that this review only critiques the aspects of colonialism and representation in Frozen 2: Dangerous Secrets. I will not be discussing the romance, side characters or anything else like that. Also, I would like to make it very clear that none of this review is meant to personally attack or berate the author @marimancusi . I firmly believe that none of the cultural insensitivities in her book were intentional, but were simply the result of a non-indigenous, white author writing about experiences she could not personally relate to. My only goals for writing this review is to show the author how her book unintentionally perpetuated many harmful and outdated ideas about racism and colonialism, and to convince her and Disney to contact and hire sensitivity readers before they create content about vulnerable racial/ethnic groups.

I would also like to state that I am an African American woman and not indigienous, so I have personal experiences with racism and colonialism towards black people, but not towards indigenous communities. So if any indigenous people see problems or inaccuracies with my review, I would be happy to listen and put your voice first.

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To summarize quickly (with full context), Frozen 2: Dangerous Secrets is about Iduna, a young indigenous Northuldra girl (oppressed racial/ethnic minority) who was suddenly and violently separated from her home and family when her people were betrayed and attacked by the Arendellians (colonizing class). As a result of the massacre battle between the two groups, Iduna is permanently separated from her home (caused by a magical and impenetrable mist) and forced to spend the rest of her days in the kingdom of Arendelle, where she lives in almost constant fear of being exposed as a Northuldran (for the townsfolk are violently bigoted against them). Naturally, this book contains many many depictions of racial hatred and bigotry along with exploring the mindset and fears of a young girl dealing with the brunt of colonialism. Unfortunately, it tends to fumble the seriousness of these situations (out of ignorance or out of a desire to keep the book lighthearted/to center the romance plotline), which results in an overall detrimental message to the audience. The missteps I specifically want to unpack are as follows.

- (1/5) Severs Iduna’s connection to her culture before the story even begins (making us feel less empathetic for the Northuldra’s plight)

I’m not 100% certain, but my understanding is that the purpose of making Iduna a double orphan was to make her more sympathetic and to give her a reason to save Agnarr’s life (to have compassion for a stranger, the same way her adoptive family did for her). In theory this is perfectly fine, quickly establishing that the audience should like Iduna is smart and so is rationalizing her most important, life changing decision. But in practice this only functions to distance Iduna from her culture and family and make the reader care less about the Northuldra. This is because it takes away Iduna’s chance to have a strong, palpable relationship with a specific Northuldra character, which would humanize their entire group (even if only in memory). The only Northuldra characters that Iduna mentions more than once is her mother and Yelena. Both of these characters are mentioned rarely, neither have a close relationship with Iduna (her mother dying 7 years before the events of the story), nor do either of them have any specific personality traits or lines of dialogue (Yelena has exactly one line and it is about knitting). The goal of a story about a child unjustly stolen from her home should be to explore why those acts of violence were so horrific. The very first step of exploring that is to humanize the victims. After all, why would a reader care about the injustices done to a group of people who barely exist? How are we, the readers, supposed to feel bad for Iduna and mourn her family like she does, if we barely know them?

We needed more of Iduna’s memories. We needed to learn about her friends, her family, her mother and Yelena. What were they really like? How did they love Iduna? What were their last words to her before she never saw them again? Didn’t Iduna care for them? Did she worry about their well being and miss their comforts? We need to hear about how she bonded with them, how they made her feel, how they made her laugh or cry. How they taught her to hunt, forage, and knit so that when we hear how the Arendellians speak of them, with such ignorance and contempt, we are as truly disgusted and offended as we should be.

- (2/5) Equates Iduna and Agnarr’s suffering, aggressively downplaying the brutality of colonialism (even to the point of prioritizing Agnarr’s needs)

First things first, I understand that Dangerous Secrets is a modern day romance novel for older children/teens so an equal power balance between Agnarr and Iduna is preferred (which I agree with). But, this balance extends past the romance and personalities and into attempting to portray Agnarr and Iduna’s suffering as equal. This is best exemplified in these lines of internal dialogue by Iduna:

I did not deserve to be locked away from everyone I loved. But Agnarr did not deserve to die alone on the forest floor because he’d had a fight with his father. Whatever happened that day to anger the spirits and cause all of this, it was not his fault. Nor was it mine. And while we might be on different sides of this fight, we had both lost so much. Our friends. Our family. Our place in the world. In an odd way we were more alike than different. (Page 67)

All of this is technically true, up until the very last line about them being “more alike than different”. Agnarr and Iduna’s lives are nothing alike. Iduna is a poor, indigenous girl who had everyone she ever knew or loved either killed or permanently taken away from her, stolen from her home and forced to spend the rest of her life living in a foreign kingdom rife with people who actively, consistently threaten her safety. While Agnarr, on the other hand, is a white male member of the royal family, heir to the throne, and extremely wealthy. The novel doesn’t shy away from this (at least on Agnarr’s part), and doesn’t hesitate to show us that Agnarr is royalty and will never experience what Iduna has to endure. But it behaves like Agnarr’s relatively petty, temporary, and incomparable ills are just as heartbreaking as Iduna’s and focuses significantly more time and energy building up empathy for him and his woes. This extends from small things like the book asserting that the few times Agnarr needed to stay in his castle, to avoid political assasination was comparable to Iduna’s family being trapped in the mist (against their will for 30+ years); to more concerning issues like claiming Agnarr’s separation from his parent’s is just as distressing as Iduna’s separation from her entire people. Now fleshing out Agnarr and his relation to parents is a good thing, since it can provide crucial character motivation and make him more of a well rounded character. But when Agnarr’s suffering is presented as more relevant and worthwhile discussing than Iduna’s it, by extension, implies that the frustrations of an affluent life and being separated from parents that did not value you in the first place (Runeard and Rita) is somehow more or just as pressing as facing the brunt of the most violent and terrifying forms of colonialism. Agnarr’s story may be tragic, but it is nowhere near as horrific as Iduna’s and the book should acknowledge and reflect that.

- (3/5) Has a rudimentary understanding of racism and how if affects the people who perpetuate it

Dangerous Secrets’ understanding of racism (and how to deal with it) is summed up very concisely in a conversation between Lord Peterssen and young Prince Agnarr. Agnarr asks his senior why the Arendellian towns people are so obsessed with blaming magic and the spirits (magic and spirits being an allegory for real world characteristics that are unique to one culture or people) for all their problems, and the following exchange insues:

“People will always need something to blame for their troubles”, he explained. “And magical spirits are an easy target-since they can’t exactly defend themselves… “So what do we do?” I asked. “We can’t very well fight against an imaginary force!” “No. But we can make the people feel safe. That’s our primary job.” (Page 132-133)

Though Lord Peterssen is supposed to be a flawed character, who puts undue pressure onto Iduna and Agnarr to uphold the status quo of Arendelle, this line is (intentional or not) how the book actually views racism and how it expects the characters (and reader by extension) to deal with/understand it. Bigotry is portrayed as something that is inevitable and something that should not be quelled or disproven, but accommodated for. Agnarr, as king next in line, should not worry about ending the unjust hatred in his kingdom, or killing the root of the problem (the rumors). Instead he should tell his people their suspicions are correct, and put actual resources and time into abetting their dangerous beliefs. Even later on, at the very end of the novel, Agnarr treats the prolific bigotry and magic hatred of his people as an unfortunate circumstance he has found himself in, and not something that he, as king, has the power or civic responsibility to change.

This could have been an excellent line of flawed logic, representing how privileged people tend to avoid/project the blame of racism, and prioritize order and peace over justice. Which would work especially well for Peterssen and Agnarr since they are both high class nobles with the power to actually make a difference, instead choosing to foist responsibility onto Iduna (in the case of Peterssen) who was only a child, relatively impoverished, and the one with the most to lose if she spoke out. Or, in the case of Agnarr, they do disagree with the fear mongering, but only for personal reasons (Agnarr because his father used it as an excuse for his lies); refusing still to actually work to improve his society. But the key detail is that this needs to be portrayed as wrong, which this book fails to do. Agnarr nor Peterssen are ever expected to disprove the townsfolk’s bigotry in any meaningful, long lasting sense, Peterssen is never confronted seriously for his cowardice and victim blaming, and Agnarr is never criticized for his anti-bigotry being based entirely on his own personal parental issues and not in the fact that he knows with 100% certainty that the Northuldra are innocent.

This flawed understanding of bigotry also applies to how the book depicts the Arendellian townsfolk, who are awarded no accountability whatsoever for their actions. The townspeople spend the entire book threatening to kill any Northuldra they find and Peterssen, Agnarr, and Iduna are constantly afraid that they would immediately destabilize the government if they found out their king was close to one. But somehow this does not translate into any contempt or distrust in our protagonist or the reader. In this novel, we meet only four openly bigoted individuals: the two orphan children playing “kill the Northuldra”, the purple/pink sheep guy (Askel), and the allergy woman (Mrs. Olsen). The orphans are dismissed wholesale because they are literal children who also lost both of their parents in the battle of the dam (so they were killed by Northuldra; somewhat justifying their anger). And the other two townsfolk are joke characters, whose claims are so unbelievable that they aren’t supposed to be seen as a serious threat. Not only that but Askel is rewarded for his bigotry when Iduna offers he sell his pink sheep’ wool (which he thought was an attack from the Northuldra) as beautiful pink shawls. These are the only specific characters that show any type of active bigotry in the entire kingdom besides Runeard, whomst is dead. Every other character is either an innocent and friendly bystander (the woman at the chocolate shop, the new orphans Iduna buys cookies for, the farmers Iduna sells windmills too, the people at Agnarr and Iduna’s wedding), has no opinion at all (Greda, Kai, Johan), or is portrayed as someone who is just innocently scared and doesn’t know any better (the rest of the townsfolk, especially those who fear the Northuldra are the sun mask attackers). Even the King of Vassar, the most violent and dangerous living character of the story, doesn’t even hold any prejudice against the Northuldra, and simply uses their imagery to scare Arendelle into accepting his military rule.

So according to this book, bigotry and racism come not from the individual, but from society and the system you live in, but also not really because the people in charge of that system (Peterssen, Agnarr, and eventually Iduna) are also virtually guiltless. This, of course, is not true at all. Racism is a moral failing which exists on all levels of society, from individuals who chose to be bigoted, to others who tolerate bigotry as long as it doesn’t inconveniance them. It's not just an inevitable fear of what you don’t understand, but an insidious choice to be ignorant, fearful, and unjust to the most vulnerable members of society. It is malicious and irrational, and the more you tolerate it, the more dangerous it becomes.

- (4/5) Presents Iduna’s assimilation to the dominant culture as a positive

As the romance plotline of Dangerous Secrets really starts to get underway, Iduna’s life seems perfect. Her romance with Agnarr blossoms, she has her own business, and is becoming accustomed to her new surroundings (in order to make the coming drama more exciting). This is her internal dialogue as she returns to town one day:

I couldn't imagine, at the time, living in a place like this. But now it felt like home. It would never replace the forest I grew up in… But it had been so long now, that life had begun to feel almost like a dream. A beautiful dream of an enchanted forest… There was a time I truly believed I would die if I could never enter the forest again. If the mist was never to part. But that time, I realized, was long gone. And I had so much more to live for now… And my dreams were less about returning to the past and more about striking out into the future- (Page 128-129)

Again, I understand that the point of Iduna being content with her life like this is to be the “calm before the storm” of the romance arc, but the fact that Iduna is almost forgetting her old life, and that it is presented as a good thing, is extremely distressing. At only 12 years old Iduna lost everything she ever had besides the literal clothes on her back; she would never forget that. Not only that, but the real world implication that a minority should cope with their societal trauma by spending the rest of their life working for said society that unapologetically wants to kill them (and get a boyfriend) is horribly off putting. It strikes a nerve with many people of color and indigenous readers because telling minorities to “get a job” or “get a life” (especially when said jobs ignore/are separate from their own cultures) is commonly used by privileged folk to blame them for their own dissatisfaction/unhappiness with the society they live in. The idea is that minorities should continue to suffer, but busy themselves, so they stop criticizing dominant culture and defending/uplifting their own. This is part of cultural erasure, and the book plays into it, by commending Iduna for “having more to live for” than cherishing/wanting to return to her original home, for prioritizing Arendelle over herself, and for forgetting her heritage/playing it off as nothing but a dream. Devaluing indigenous culture like this, especially through an indigenous character, is extremely disrespectful.

Not only that, but it’s completely antithetical to Iduna’s character, since she claims to be proud and unashamed of who she is, but happily assists the townsfolk who hate her, and rarely mentions her heritage besides when she’s caught in a lie or actively being persecuted. This is another failing brought on by the lack of understanding of how racism affects its victims. Being a minority plays into all the decisions you make and all the interactions you have; it’s not something that you can just turn off unless directly provoked. Iduna’s would be constantly fretting about who she talks to, and who she is with because if she gets too close to the wrong person, she could have put herself in serious danger.

Nowhere is this lack of realism more obvious than the scene directly after Iduna rejects Johan’s proposal. Iduna spends a long time thinking about whether marrying Johan or Agnarr would be better for her, and not even once does being a Northuldra play into her decision making. This should’ve been front and center because your husband can be your strongest ally or your greatest enemy. If Iduna was outed, what could she do to defend herself against or alongside her partner? If she was ever going to consider marrying for anything other than true love, her chances of survival should have been her first priority.

What I’m not saying is that there needs to be a complete overhaul of Iduna’s personality, or that she needs to be frightened and suspicious at all times. Iduna can project strength and caution. She can be kind to the townspeople, but reserved in order to keep a safe distance. She should cling to the few pieces of her culture she has left, despite what society tells her to do. Or, on the exact opposite side of the coin, Iduna’s personality could be kept relatively the same, but the book needs to acknowledge that this is a terrible thing. Iduna is being assimilated against her will to a society that doesn’t value her and that is a tragedy. In a futile attempt at survival, Iduna buries her culture away and lives her life as a perfect, contributing, model Arendellian citizen, but they terrorize her regardless.

- (5/5) Negatively depicts the indigenous Northuldra as murderous invaders

In Chapter 34 of Dangerous Secrets it is revealed, during a flashback, that Iduna lost her parents and her entire family group in an attack by a separate group of Northuldra invaders. This scene is completely unacceptable regardless whatever narrative/story purpose it was supposed to achieve for several reasons. Firstly, because this book is about colonialism, which we as a society already know the consequences of and how colonizers, in an attempt to rid themselves of blame, react to it. One of the very first things a colonizer/privileged class will do to make themselves feel less guilty for the atrocities they perpetuate is bring up acts of violence/wrongdoing on behalf of the oppressed. The sole purpose of this is always to make the victims look less sympathetic and less deserving of justice, equality, or attention because “they’re not so innocent, they did wrong things too, so maybe we shouldn't feel that bad for them/maybe they got what they deserved”. And of course this mindset is absolutely horrific and unforgivable when you’re talking about a group of white colonizers actively trying to destroy and indiscriminately slaughter a large group of indigenous people, including their children.

The second reason is because the author is a non-indigenous white person, and therefore benefits directly from the downplaying of indiginous pain. I’m sure this wasn’t intentionally malicious on her part, but that’s what she wrote; these are the consequences.

((Also the fact that one of the Northuldra groups are murderous invaders means that Iduna was actively lying the entire book about the Northuldra being peaceful.))

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In conclusion, any book that incorporates the culture and experiences of a group the author is not a part of, should absolutely hire a sensitivity reader to ensure accuracy and respect. As a Frozen superfan myself, I actually enjoyed this book a lot and I was delighted to see the lore, worldbuilding and romance. I loved Agnarr, Lord Peterssen, and Princess Runa and certain pieces of dialogue and imagery were beautiful. This novel just desperately needed someone to check it. All this book needed was a bit more of a critical gaze on some of the character decisions and motivations (I truly believe Agnarr and Peterssen would have been even more intriguing and likeable characters if they were actually called out, and given time to reflect on their hypocrisies) and it would’ve been much stronger and more palatable to diverse audiences. Some elements did need to be cut out completely, but a sensitivity reader would’ve easily been able to point this out and offer alternatives that preserved the spirit of the novel, without including any offensive and distasteful implications.

#dangerous secrets #Frozen 2: Dangerous secrets #agduna #iduna frozen #agnarr frozen #iduna #agnarr #frozen #frozen 2 #dangerous secrets review #frozen reviews #frozen review #frozen analysis #frozen 2 analysis #Frozen 2: Dangerous Secrets Review

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razorblade180 · 4 years

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The Real You pt6

[Warning, Parts 1-5 are really old. So their quality is eh...]

Love sucks, that’s the feeling our emotionally wrecked trio was having anyways. Each of them sat quietly while looking at an empty cake tray and devoured bowls of ice cream. They must’ve scarfed down enough sweets to make even Ruby sick, yet not even their slightly upset stomach could compare to the pain in their chest. Love sucked, but here they were, wishing for a way to grab a hold of it with both hands.

Yang sat on her couch all alone and stared at Jaune, who laid on her floor. His eyes fixated on the never ending weeping of the heavens outside. A fitting mood really. Yang still felt like letting her tears flow just a little bit. She couldn’t believe that she got cheated on, again. Technically this would be the first time but the series of events and feelings were scarily familiar to what happened with her partner that it was hard not to draw certain comparisons.

Jaune finally noticed her gaze and stared back. He could tell just from one look how much she was trying to keep herself together for everyone’s sake. He had no doubt that he had truly broken Yang’s heart and that in return made him feel utterly sick beyond belief. How could he do something so awful, sleeping with Neo? The feelings towards the girl in question only made it worse. It was one thing to give your body to someone else that you weren’t dating, but it was far worse when you were also emotionally invested. Jaune couldn’t bear to see the look of sorrow on her face. He’d turn away but Jaune Arc would not run from his mistakes. His lack of judgement got him into this so he would take all forms of punishment to show how much he ached from his decision. Yang Xiao Long deserved better.

Neo sat at the table, watching them both. The girl methodically fiddled with her empty spoon as she tried to deal with her guilt. Why was being a good person so hard? It wasn’t a foreign concept, not completely. Treat others the way you wanted to be treated, don’t let negative thoughts decide your actions, use your talents to better the world; Neo wasn’t sure that last one was possible. The girl pursued a man she loved for selfish reasons, knowing good will those moments of bliss would rot and decay in no time at all, poisoning the very person she wanted to impress.

“You’d think after all those sweets, the three of us would be on any sort of high right now?” Neo said, her head resting on her arms. She didn’t care what response they’d give her. Any words were better than silence. She knew that better than anyone. “Where do we go from here?”

“Dunno.” Yang said, “I can barely keep my own thoughts in order.”

“Share em. No use holding anything in, especially against me. I’ll take the punches, physically or verbally.”

“Okay then. I hate this, this...ache. I hate how much hurting you both are putting me through to the point I wanna scream.” Yang’s nails dug into the cushion beneath her. “Worst part of all? I hate how scared I am. It feels like I’m only a few more events away from living in this apartment with no one but my sister and possibly Weiss to visit me; when they aren’t too busy being in love. Just like…”

The blonde bruiser’s eyes shut tight. Tears managed to escape and her lip quivered fiercely. Seconds passed by before she opened her eyes and looked at her boyfriend. Was he still her boyfriend? She guessed that was to be determined later. Only one thing was at the forefront of her wary mind.

“I want to still be with you Jaune, I do. But for the life of me I can’t think of a way to even begin to go through this. Apologizing doesn’t cut it. Punishing or making some kind of deal with Neo to leave doesn’t fix anything either. I’m so furious but I hate the fact that letting you go is the last thing I want.” Yang clenched her chest tightly. It felt as if everything was pulling her apart and trying to keep her together all at once. “I love you so please, end this yourself.”

Jaune’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”

“You came over here so I can chew you out and break up right? Well if you want this to officially end then you’ll have to do it yourself because I’m dumb enough to still want you.”

“You aren’t dumb.” Neo spoke up, “And I’m the last person to be talking about being fair or discussing hypocrisy, but it’s close minded to think making Jaune shoulder that choice isn’t a form of punishment. Even a blind person could easily see that he loves you too; more than anything. More than anyone.”

It hurt but it was the truth. If it came down to it, Jaune would pick Yang in any situation and Neo would be left out to dry. His feelings for the petite girl are true, but that didn’t matter as long as he had Yang. Not that she could blame him.

“Honestly, I’m jealous of you Yang. Not just because you’re good, but because you are what I want to be. Maybe that’s why I could do what I did so easily? I was tired of feeling beneath you, the girl I wish I could be.”

Neo stood up from the table and looked at Yang’s tired red face before looking at Jaune and shaking her head. “Sorry, for wrecking what you have. We both know I’m terrible for you. If I could make a good guy like you cheat on someone like her then I’m clearly bad.”

“I’m not as good as you think. I would’ve pushed you away if I was.” Jaune sighed. This was going nowhere, fast. They were all about to keep looping this cycle of hating themselves. “Stop treating me like I’m perfect, I’m not.”

“Never said you were, it’s obvious to see though I’m making cracks in your demeanor that weren’t there before. Since I’ve already gone this far when it comes to being a shitty person, no reason for me to start considering the requests both of you have. I’m gonna do what I want, leave.”

Yang let out a groan of irritation. “Neo-”

“You have no intention to stop loving him so what other option could there possibly be? Correct me if I’m wrong but you’re not the type to share, are you?” It was faint but Neo was sure Yang could hear it, the little plea that had escaped in her voice. Neo would love nothing more than to be wrong right now. She wasn’t entirely sure of Yang’s past relationship but it had obviously done a number on the girl.

Yang could hear that twinge of hope in Neo’s voice. She could even see the twinkle in her eye. Neo was practically begging for a life line, a reason to believe that she didn’t have to commit to her claim of walking away. Sadly, Yang could only stare, and Jaune knew exactly why such a question was risky to ask.

“Sorry, I can’t say that I am. That situation is...it burned me before.” Yang said, resisting the painful memories that tried to surface.

Neo’s face went pale. Well, that was it. Her final possible tether to the life and person she wanted to be with, severed in no time flat. She did her best to sound indifferent about it.

“Oh, I see. I...wasn’t aware that there were some rough patches in that subject. Then I guess… I guess there’s nothing left to do. Jaune…”

“Neo…” He knew better than to try to change her mind or make this tougher than it already was. He didn’t have an answer for all three of them after all. It would’ve been selfish and inconsiderate to speak as if he did. Even saying goodbye felt way too...inappropriate, in a way.

Neo put on the fakest smile both Jaune and Yang had ever seen in their life. “Thanks for believing in me, both of you. Even though I flopped the moment I tried to change. It was nice, having someone take the chance anyways.”

With her feelings in the open, Neo turned towards the door and grabbed the knob. Her hand stayed on that knob, her fingers refusing to grab it as her entire body trembled. She knew they could hear her sniffle. Neo knew that she was taking entirely too long, but even with nothing left to say, leaving felt so painful. She took one final breath and then found the will to step out of the apartment, the sound of her footsteps sprinting the moment the door closed behind her.

Yang found no joy in seeing her leave, only more ache. She turned to Jaune who was still staring at the door, his eyes filled with a new kind of sorrow.

“If you’re wondering what things would’ve been like if I had been the one to pick, I would’ve chosen you. Don’t think for a second I’d willingly walk out of your life.” Jaune said, tearing up. “Even so, I would’ve felt terrible leaving Neo’s life. This might sound a little egotistical, but I can’t see her bouncing back from this. Not alone. Not without us.”

“Us?”

“I may have given her the dream of changing, but you were clearly the goal post.”

“Don’t put that on me.” Yang said weakly, “What would’ve happened if she did change? She would still love you, and I would still be worried about losing you.”

Jaune bit his bottom lip out of anxiety. Of course none of them were able to find a solution, they all had baggage and walls that they tried their best not to hit. Jaune was wary, but that might’ve been the problem. Neo never pulled her punches and this day had already been the absolute worst, so why not keep pushing? That’s the thing about baggage, you gotta unpack it eventually. Jaune only wished that it wouldn’t come back to bite him.

“I’m not Blake…”

Yang’s head jolted up. Jaune didn’t need to look at her to know Yang was staring at him with scarlet eyes that felt like they were burning a whole into the side of his face.

“Don’t say her name.”

“Why? It’s not like you haven’t been thinking about what happened with her this entire time. Yang you won’t lose m-”

“YOU DON’T THINK SHE DIDN’T SAY THE SAME THING!?” Yang said, screaming as she stood up in frustrated anger. Jaune had struck a nerve he knew was still very much was like an open wound. He finally looked at the girl, she had his undivided attention.

“You don’t believe that she didn’t reassure me that I had nothing to worry about!? That’s how it starts. They ease your fears, tell you that things are mutual, that feelings are equal; that’s not how that works! No matter how much attention she gave me, it was obvious her mind was on Sun. The looks, the talk, the stories, so I do what anybody would do and confront her about it. We talked and we talked and we talked and we talked until finally I believed that things could work out. Sharing wouldn’t be so hard if everyone really is on the same page right? All three people give the same amount they gain right!? Well that’s not how it works!!! It felt like I was fighting to find a reason to even be around them. Slowly but surely, a wall was being built but bringing up the dynamic again after so many discussions just got so…I was tired Jaune. Her words felt so rehearsed, so lifeless. Up until we have one more discussion because I just don’t think we’ve gotten it right yet. That’s when her words sounded true. When she looked at me and said ‘I can’t do this anymore’ and I knew instantly I was out of the picture. Blake had chose Sun over me a long time ago, I was just stupid enough to ignore the signs! So tell me Jaune, how the hell would this end up any different!? How could you look at me and say you won’t need me around anymore!?”

Yang’s chest rose up and down heavily as she tried to breathe. She refused to be slowly pushed out again, to have her feelings subtly get abandoned for another. She watched Jaune stare at her, his face expression giving off nothing but sorrow, or was it pity?

“Well!?” Yang sniffled, “Say something for fucks sake!”

Jaune walked closer to her. Close enough reach out and wipe the numerous tears that riddled her face. “Because my love for you isn’t fragile.”

He said nothing else. Jaune left her speechless for a moment while he walked towards the door and opened it, scaring her a little.

“Jaune what are-”

“I think a little space right now to think about today is needed. I need that space, but I will come back. Don’t ever doubt that.” Jaune opened the door. “I messed up today, I know that. But don’t you ever doubt my love for you. I swear it never runs low.”

Yang said nothing. She simply watched him close the door. The girl fell back onto her couch, she had to be minutes away from vomiting. Jaune was right about one thing, she did need some space from this situation. As well as some perspective. Yang dialed her scroll and practically begged for her sister to pick up. Thankfully, she did.

“Hey sis, what’s going on?” The cheerfulness of Ruby’s voice felt like the one sunlight on this gray day.

“Hey Ruby. Y..You free to talk?”

“Always, what’s up? You sound stuffy.”

“Oh you know…Jaune cheated on me today.”

Part 5

#rwby #yang xiao long #jaune arc #ruby rose #neo politan #rwby dragonslayer #the real you #rwby silent knight

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danceinpurgat0ry · 3 years

Text

At the End of Everything, Hold Onto Anything

Ahoy hoy, readers!

So... This is another one of my personal favorites, even though I was relatively new back when I wrote it. Like “Snowed In,” this takes place in a modern AU. This was also slightly inspired by Night in the Woods. It’s a really good game, and I think you should check it out.

And like “Hold You, Never Let Go,” I was only able to post the first half since the second part contains smut, which I’m afraid of getting in trouble for if I were to post it here, since I’m not too familiar with this site’s content guidelines. There is a brief mention of it, though, but it’s very brief and will most likely be fine (I hope).

Anyway, I think I’ve rambled on for long enough. I hope you enjoy!

. ˚◞♡ 🎐 *ೃ༄

The breeze was cold, delivering the autumn winds as it traveled. Leaves fell from the looming trees, assuming a crisp orange hue. Autumn is said to represent adulthood and maturity. And, to be frank, whoever said that wasn't necessarily wrong.

You had just finished unpacking your things. You had just moved back to your hometown. Why? Well, you wanted to resume your aimless former life and catch up on those you left behind. So you dropped out of college, moved back, and... yeah.

In fact, there was one person in particular you yearned to see again. You just weren't sure if that person still lived here.

It's better to just not get your hopes up, though...

━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━

A few days have passed, and already you're starting to feel a little glum.

Things have changed here. Your friends, the town, the venues... everything. It's almost as though everything's moved on without you.

Your friends have grown and changed. They have jobs now. They almost seemed alien to you now. Or was it the other way around?

Nah, it had to be them.

Anyways, there was still this one place in town you liked that was still around. It was a local bar you used to sneak into from time to time, namely because they had a cocktail-type arcade machine called "Galaga," and you would always sneak in to play it.

Looking back, you're actually rather thankful that the bartender pretended not to see you when you did.

And admittedly, you actually did have a drink or two a few years before you were of legal age to drink. Thankfully, you dodged a huge bullet when your mother took you here for your "first drink" since the bartender covered for you.

Good times...

But even the bar itself had changed. The bar had been renovated to fit in with more modern times (it was actually more like a club than a bar now). Nevertheless, you were relieved that it was at least still there.

You could hear the music from across the street. Sighing, you decided to enter. Whether it was for nostalgic reasons or simply because of an obscure sense of curiosity, you'd never know.

━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━

You took a sip of your drink as you stared at the others abhorrently, jealous that those freaks were able to find their "special someone" before you (even if it was just some weird hookup). It disgusted you. But perhaps it was all just in your head. Nonetheless, you were still pretty pissed.

Of course, this burning flame of jealousy died down a bit when notice a familiar face sitting next to you—Hinoka. Hinoka was a good friend of yours. She was a serious girl who didn't take shit from anyone. And admittedly, you still thought it was the funniest thing ever when she knocked the shit out of this one jackass who attempted to flirt with her, only to offend her in the process.

Anyway, you were a bit surprised to find that Hinoka of all people decided to come to a place like this. "H-Hinoka?!" you practically yelped. "Dude, I haven't seen you in forever!"

"Hm? Oh, hey (Y/N)," she responded, sipping out of her flask. "What're you doing here? Weren't you going to college out-of-state?"

"Uh, yeah, funny story," you began. "I kinda, sorta dropped out."

"Oh, really? How come?"

"Do you promise not to laugh?"

"Of course. We've been friends for gods-know-how-long. You can tell me anything."

"Okay..." You inhaled deeply, then turned back to her. "I wanted to go back to being an aimless nobody and return to my friends and family."

It went silent for a moment before Hinoka let out a soft sigh. "Is that it?"

"Pretty much..." Technically, it wasn't. Of course, you weren't willing to admit that.

"I'm not going to judge you or think less of you for it," Hinoka began. "But I believe you could've done better. Honestly."

"Yeah, I know..."

Those were words you didn't want to hear at all, but you knew that Hinoka was just being a good friend. You couldn't be mad at her for that.

You took a sip, still feeling a bit glum. You're odds of actually getting to see a certain somebody were already low, but you feared that you might not even get to see them. Possibly ever again.

This certain somebody wasn't just "anybody." This somebody—a girl, to be exact—was someone you had your eyes on. In fact, you could've even said that you were infatuated with them. But being the dick you were back then, you left without even so much as a goodbye. Or at least, you thought you were a dick for it.

But that wasn't until you heard a soft, smooth voice that your mood suddenly skyrocketed. When you turned around, you saw her—a purple-haired woman sitting right next to you. You nearly spit out your drink (like a fucking idiot). It was her!

"C-C-Camilla?!" you squeaked.

She turned to you, a large smile spreading across her face. "(Y/N)? Oh, what a wonderful surprise~!" she said as she wrapped her arms around you, practically squeezing the life out of you. When she did so, her large breasts squished into your face. It was pleasant, but a bit cliché. You've seen something like this in a few anime and manga, and honestly, you now realize that it really isn't like they make it seem.

"I missed you so much," she cooed. You shifted your head so that you could speak. "Ah... I missed you, too."

Camilla eventually let go, then reached out to hold your hands. "Why don't we go somewhere else? We have quite a bit to catch up on, you know." As she spoke, you could tell that she was a bit disgusted by the mere presence of Hinoka. But that was to be expected. The two didn't neccessarily get along well. Hinoka seemed to be glaring at the purple-haired woman with the same amount of disgust.

"Y-Yeah, okay," was all you could utter. Camilla flashed you a warm smile, gently pulling you along and leading you outside.

━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━

"Where have you been all this time? I missed you so much."

The two of you were now at your house. It was your idea, but it was a bit lackluster (in your opinion), and you hoped that Camilla wasn't secretly judging you for it. Well, it wasn't like you could've just waltzed into town and bought a fucking mansion or some shit.

"Ah... I went off to college. You know that."

"Oh, that's right. And how did that turn out for you?"

Again with that question...

"I...dropped out." You practically bit your tongue as you confessed that to her.

"Oh? How come?"

"Because..." You breathed in a sharp inhale. "I wanted to come back. Get all that pressure off of my shoulders. And..."

Gods, at a time like this, you wished you were dead.

"The truth is, I...wanted to be with you. I've always had my eyes on you, Camilla. I've dreamt of you for countless nights, wishing that I could just be in your arms and cuddle the shit out of you. That by some stupid luck I'd one day be yours. College was hard, Camilla, not because of the pressure, but because I missed you so fucking much."

At this point, the words just flowed out of you. Camilla seemed to be hooked on every word you managed to spew out.

"You're the only woman for me. I was a mess back there because you're just so perfect. I could never focus in my courses because I could never get you out of my head. Because I love you, Camilla, so very fucking much."

After confessing your feelings for her, you didn't think you could even bring yourself to look at her directly due to sheer embarrasment. You winced, expecting her to laugh at your feelings. To your surprise though, Camilla just stood up and approached you, bringing her fingers to your chin to guide your gaze to her face, before planting her lips onto yours. It felt...great.

To be honest, this was the best kiss you've ever had. You can't really say it was your first, though, since you've had a few partners back when you were going to college up state. Ever since you left, you had a huge hole inside that you desperately tried to fill, although things didn't really work out for you. You fought with one of them, the second cheated on you with some douchebag, and the rest were just hookups or one night stands. There was no woman out there that was like Camilla. Yeah, it was pretty hella depressing, but you knew that after this, that hole would finally be filled.

After what seemed like an eternity, your lips parted. The sensation still lingered within you, though, whether it was because of happiness, your libido, or maybe both. One thing's for certain, though: Camilla tasted really fucking good.

"Damn," you spoke. "That...was awesome."

"You liked it?" Camilla giggled. "I'm glad. I've been waiting so very long to do that."

"Have you, now? Well, I'm happy that I got my feelings through to you. Uh...assuming that you reciprocate, that is."

Camilla gave you a kiss on the forehead. "Of course. And you know...the others missed you just as much. Especially sweet little Corrin, the poor thing was so sad to see you go."

Corrin was a good friend of yours as well. The two of you would hang out all the time, to the point to where you remember pretty much everything about them. Not that you thought they were repulsive, of course. You simply enjoyed their company. The two of you would mostly play video games, but you did other things as well, such as eat lunch together or watch movies.

You missed those times... maybe you should go visit them.

"I'm glad to hear that," you responded. "Now then, there was actually something I've been wanting to do with you."

"Oh?" Camilla let out a confused yet intrigued sound. "Whatever might that be, sweetie?"

━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━

"Bon appétit!"

You brought a few dishes to the table, decked out in red tablecloth and lit candles. Seeing as it was Valentine's Day, you thought that it would be nice to have a fancy(ish?) dinner with the woman who was now your girlfriend. This town didn't offer much in the way of good eats, so you took it upon yourself to cook them up in the comfort of your own home. You had gotten pretty good at cooking after you moved off to go to college, so you didn't have much to worry about in that department.

You brought a bottle of red wine and poured it into your glasses. It wasn't the most "high-class" wine in the world, but it certainly wasn't cheap, either. Some smooth jazz was playing in the background, too. You took a seat and said, "You know, you look really gorgeous. I mean...you always have, but..."

Camilla chuckled, taking a sip of her wine. "Awh, you've always been so cute when you trip over your words. I can't help but fawn over it."

"Damn... And here I thought I was looking like a complete fucking buffoon."

"Oh, I could never think that way of you. You went through all this trouble just to make me feel special, after all."

Ah... She always knew the right things to say. What a goddess.

"So," you began, sipping your wine and attempting to be seductive about it (although you hoped that you didn't look like an idiot doing so). "What have you been up to all this time? Now's a great time to catch up on everything."

"Ah, well, I just recently got a job downtown. I get paid a pretty good amount, so I've been able to take good care of by beautiful siblings easier. Well... Corrin and Elise, anyway."

"They still live with you?" you asked, stifling a bit of laughter. You didn't mean to be disrespectful; it was just a bit laughable to you.

"Oh, of course! Corrin is still pursuing their academic career, and Elise is still a bit too young to move out on her own. So, naturally, it's my job as their big sister to take care of them. We're still keeping in touch with Xander and Leo, though they're off pursuing their own affairs elsewhere."

"That...makes sense."

Camilla was almost like a mother to her siblings... It made you feel a bit jealous. Yeah, you had parents, but they hardly ever paid attention to you since they were always busy working. Because of this, any kind of relationship with them was pretty much nonexistent. It didn't really help that you didn't have any siblings, either.

"Oh? What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Camilla seemed to have sensed the uneasiness within you, much to your surprise. "O-Oh, uh, nothing. I was just thinking, that's all."

"About your parents?"

Fuck.

Camilla had known about your relationship (or, lack of, per se) for a while now, ever since you vented to her about it one day. To be honest, you never expected her to remember that.

You nodded, slowly, letting her know that she was right on the mark, as painful as it was.

"(Y/N), sweetie, you shouldn't worry so much about them. Even if they weren't close to you nor cared for you, you still have me! I care about you so, so much, and I always have. Even when you left, I continued to care deeply for you and your wellbeing."

"But aren't you upset that I just...left? Without even saying goodbye? Aren't you upset by how selfish I was back then?"

"Of course not, (Y/N). I could never be upset with you. You had your reasons. And besides, I knew you'd come home. That's why I waited. I've waited years for you to finally return. And now...here we are. Sitting at your table in your home."

...

You didn't know what to say. Camilla seemed to stand by you no matter what, even though you practically abandoned her for something better, and she was fully aware of that fact. Her little speech brought tears to your eyes. Gods, you loved her so much.

"Thank you..." you said with a sniffle.

"Aww, don't cry, darling. It'll be okay now. You're home." Camilla got up and came over to where you were sitting, turning you around and embracing you.

"T-That's right," you sniffled. "And I'm not leaving again. By your side is where I want to be, even if it's in a hellhole of a town like this. I'm not leaving you ever again."

Camilla smiled against your forehead, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. "That's so sweet, (Y/N). I'll always...always be by your side, too, no matter what."

"I'm...happy," was all you could utter.

"Hey," Camilla said, releasing you. "How about we have a little "fun?" You know, since it's Valentine's Day? And a reunion? It'll be much more romantic that way."

To be frank, you've had wet dreams about Camilla even while you were away, so the thought of actually having sex wasn't a bad idea.

"Okay," you replied. "Let's do it." You weren't sure if it was because you were practically half-wine now, but you were feeling pretty adventurous.

Smiling, Camilla reached for your hand and led you to your bedroom.

#fire emblem #fire emblem fates #modern au #swearing #suggestive themes #college dropout #reunions #reunited #camilla #gender neutral reader #camilla x reader #cross posted on ao3

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connordavidscamera · 4 years

Text

Moving In | Connor Brashier

A/n: this is the first CONcept I've made into a full fic and I'm excited to do many more. This is also the longest thing I’ve ever posted on here.

Summary: just a series of events that y/n and Connor experience whiling moving into their new home.

Warnings: fluff, and the tiniest bit of smut

Word count: 7k

***

I sigh when we get back into the car. “That’s the third house we’ve seen today, babe.”

“I know.”

“It doesn’t feel like home.”

“I know,” Connor takes my hand and places it in my lap while he rubs my knuckles with his thumb. “Just one more, okay?”

I stare down at our joined hands. “What if this one doesn’t work either?”

“Then maybe we need to stop looking for a little bit.”

I can’t help but let out a bitter laugh, “No offense, hon, but we’ve outgrown your apartment.”

“Our apartment,” he corrects.

I roll my eyes. I know it’s technically ours, because over the past two years I have very slowly started bringing in my stuff. But until we got married just a month ago, I hadn’t moved in, not officially. And that probably sounds really weird, but I just wasn’t ready to get rid of something that was just mine - something I worked so hard to get. Connor understood that, but we did agree that once we were married, I’d move in with him officially. However, we didn’t realize just how much stuff we actually had when we put it all together and tried to fit it in his two bedroom apartment. Which is why we’re here now, house hunting because we can’t live there for much longer before we go completely crazy.

“If it’s any consolation, I think this will be the one.”

I nod, “I hope so.”

“Hey,” he says when we roll to a halt at a stoplight.

“Hmm?” I glance over at him and he’s staring at me with those beautiful blue eyes that I don’t think have ever held anything but love.

“You know I love you, right?”

I smile contently and lean forward to kiss his cheek. “Love you, too.”

He was right. The house is perfect. Four bedrooms, three and a half bath. Sure we don’t need all the bedrooms, but we can make a couple of them into other things. Con has always said he wanted a room to develop his photos and work on his videos. And I wouldn’t mind having an actual home office.

“Y/n? What are you thinking, baby?” his arms encircle my waist and I fall into him.

I nod, “It’s it, Con. This is our home.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say, turning in his arms, rubbing my hands up and down the backs of his arms.

“Well I’m glad to hear you say that because I just told relator to draw up the contracts. It’s ours, baby girl.”

“It’s ours?”

He presses a gentle kiss to my temple and holds his hand out for me, the keys in his palm. “All ours.”

---

It only took a week for us to sign the contracts and be out of the apartment. The boxes are piled high in our new living room and we’re still bringing some in. “We really should have asked the boys to help us move the stuff.”

Connor just shakes his head, bringing in what I think are the last two boxes. “They’re helping set everything up. I think we did good here by ourselves.”

I nod, looking back at him with a soft smile. “That the last of them?” I ask, gesturing to the boxes he just set by the fireplace.

“Yes ma’am.” He takes my hands and pulls me to his chest. “Now, come with me.”

“What? Where? We have to start unpacking.”

“It’ll only take a second, I promise.” He says, already pulling me to the front door. He closes it behind us and we’re both just here, standing on the porch.

“Whatcha doing there, bub?”

He just smiles like he’s won the lottery. “I want to do something. Do you trust me?”

I narrow my eyes at him, “Not when you ask me that.”

He laughs and opens the door, but before I get to step in, he takes me in his arms, lifting me from my legs, in true bridal style. “Connor, put me down!” I beg, laughing too and wrapping my arms around his neck. He kicks the door open so we can walk in, and he sets me down in the middle of the living room.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers into my ear, arms around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder.

“Yes?” I look back at him, a smile on my lips, hands covering his.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Brashier.”

I tilt my head up and press a kiss to his jaw. “Welcome home, Mr. Brashier. Now,” I pull away from him and walk over the one of the large piles of boxes. “Which one of these have the kitchen stuff?”

He just laughs, shaking his head at me. “The ones closest to the window.”

---

This is something that I’ve only ever heard people talk about, but I never thought it would be something that I got to experience. Connor and I are sitting on the floor in our living room, eating Chinese take-out, with paint samples between us.

“Ew, no. Why would we paint our bedroom yellow?” Connor says around a mouth full of egg roll.

“Chew with your mouth closed!” I scold, taking a piece of chicken from his container. “Okay, no yellow. What about red?”

“No way.”

“Why not? You like red.”

“Yes, but not for a bedroom. Red’s an angry color. Do you really want to go into a red room when we’re mad? It’ll make it worse.”

“Oh, so you believe in the subconscious effect that colors have on a person? That’s new.”

He rolled his eyes, popping a piece of broccoli in his mouth. “I’m just saying.”

“Fine. But since we’re talking about the feelings that colors give us, yellow is a happy color.”

“Yellow is also really bright. You won’t get to sleep in on the weekends like you love to do.”

I groan, “Okay, smarty pants. Then what do you think?”

“How about grey?” He sets his container down, “Can you had me a napkin?”

“What kind of grey?” I put the stack of napkins between us and sift through the samples at our feet. “Like a light one? Or darker?”

“Lighter. Kinda like that one shirt you wear that I really like.”

I can’t help but laugh. “You like a lot of shirts, honey. Be more specific.”

“You know the one! You wore it on our first date. It’s not quite medium grey, but it’s not super light either. Kinda grainy. You wore it like two weeks ago. It has that small tear at the hem.”

“How do you remember what I was wearing on our first date?” I ask, amazed by his memory.

“That’s what you got from this? I was explaining the color I liked! Pay attention, dodo bird!” he shoves my shoulder lightly.

“Okay, but you weren’t explaining the color, you were explaining the shirt. Which, by the way, gives you extra good husband points.”

“There’s points? What’s the prize?”

“Anything you want,” I say, looking him in the eyes, making sure he knew I meant it.

“Anything?” he smirks.

“Within reason,” I answer, looking back down at the colors. “Like this one?” I point to a color that’s not quite medium, but not quite white, either.

“Yeah, like that. I like that a lot actually.”

“Then it’s decided. This will be the bedroom. Now everything else.” I let out an exasperated sigh.

“Well, we don’t have to do everything now. We can leave some things the way they are and come back to them later. Like this room. Do we really have to paint it?”

I look around and scrunch up my nose. “No, I guess not.”

“I do, however,” he picks up his glass of water and takes a sip before continuing to speak, “have an idea for that wall.” He points to one that holds the large window in the middle of it.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, but I want to keep it a surprise for a little bit.”

“What? No! You can’t do that. What if I don’t like it?”

“You’ll like it,” he nods. “Now, I think it’s time we celebrated.”

“Celebrate what?” I look up at him from where he’s now standing.

“Um… hello? Are you new here? We just moved into our house.”

“Well, I mean, we’re not technically moved in. Our stuff is just here.”

He groans and squats down, taking my face in his hands. His wedding ring, cool to the touch, rests on the side of my jaw. Connor presses a gentle chaste kiss to my lips, but doesn’t release me just yet. “You’re a handful, Brashier. You know that?”

“That’s why you have two hands, love.” I press a kiss to the tip of his nose and neither of us can pull back without a smile.

---

I don’t think the intention was to go through an entire bottle and a half of wine in just once sitting, but I mean, that’s what we did. And that’s how we ended up making horrible dance routines to Nice to Meet Ya, and sending awful videos of us singing If I Can’t Have You to Shawn. And how we’re here, right now, in the middle of the room, heads resting on one another’s as we sway to Perfect. (Is that the most cheesy thing you’ve ever heard? Yeah, well it’s cheesy for us too. But the song holds a special place in both of our hearts. We consider it one of our songs - we have too many to count, really - because when we went on our first road trip together, this song was playing on practically every radio station every five minutes. We couldn’t escape it. It was almost comical, but it’s, ironically, one of our favorites now.)

“Listening to our favorite song, I have faith in what I see,” he mumbled into my hair. “Now I know I have met an angel in person and she looks perfect.”

“I don’t deserve this. You look perfect tonight.”

“Can we get really sappy for a minute?” He asks when the song comes to an end.

“Sappier than Ed?”

“Just a little,” he holds his thumb and forefinger close together.

I smile at the goofy man in front of me, “Sure, blue eyes. Go ahead.”

He picks my phone up from one of the boxes and types in my password. I yawn as I watch him type something out and then set my phone back down when he’s found the song he wants.

Elvis fills the room and I immediately feel my face turn red. “May I have this dance, my lady?”

“You may,” I give him my hand and we’re once again swaying to the music.

“But I can’t help falling in love with you,” we sing in unison.

“Shall I stay?” he starts.

“Would it be a sin?” I respond, pressing a kiss to his chest.

“If I can’t help falling in love with you?” Connor picks my chin up and presses a feather-like kiss to my lips and I feel like I’m floating. Even after all this time, he still knows just how to sweep me off my feet. He knows how to make each kiss feel like the first, make each stare feel just as intense as when he’s trying to get me in bed with him. And the stare that he’s giving me now? Yeah, it’s doing exactly what he’s wanting it to.

---

“Con, do we have a ladder?” I ask, standing on my tip toes, trying to get the paint as high as I could, which wasn’t high enough.

“No, but I can have Brian bring one over later. Why?”

“Well, I mean,” I look up at the wall, “Unless you like the wall being only three fourths painted, I think we might need one.” I laugh, but he doesn’t look as amused.

“Okay, smart ass. I’ll tell him to bring one.”

So, starting on opposite ends of the same wall was not our brightest idea, because when we meet in the middle, we’re nudging each other, trying to get our sides. The logical thing to do would be to have one of us just finish off the wall ad have the other start another wall, but clearly we’re not logical.

“Y/n, move.”

“No, you. I’m trying to get my side.”

“And what do you think I’m doing? Standing here just to look pretty?”

I roll my eyes, “Fuck off, Brashier. You give me a headache.”

“I give you a headache? Since when?”

“Since forever. This isn’t news. Now, scoot over.”

“Hmm,” he pouts and turns around, giving me the space I need to finish my part of the wall - well, what I could without the ladder.

“Y/n.”

“What?” I ask, turning to face him and I’m struck with something wet on my cheek and nose. I gasp. “Connor!”

“There, now the paint fumes can be the reason for your headache instead of me.”

“Oh, you’re gonna get it.”

“Yeah -” he’s cut off when I take my rolling brush over his full face. “Right,” he finishes, wiping some of the paint out of his eyes. “Okay, I see how it is. I hope you know what you’ve started, love.”

“I didn’t start anything, you did. I just finished it.”

“Is that right? Well it’s funny that you think that because,” he swipes his brush over my shirt, but I just laugh. “Ha, this is your shirt, loser!”

“Damn it!” he curses and I smile triumphantly, and turn back to the task at hand and start painting again. I’m on my tip toes, stretching as far as I can to get as close to the trim as possible when I feel a sharp tap on my ass.

“Ow, what the fuck?!” I laugh a little, bending over slightly in pain. “That stings, dickhead!”

“Sorry honey, but,” he holds his hand up, revealing a grey palm, “had to get you back somehow. And those shorts aren’t mine.” he smirks.

I groan, “I’m going to kill you.”

“I’d love to see you try, sweetheart.” And that’s how the paint war starts. We’re throwing it at each other by the handful. And now there is definitely more paint on us and on the tarp we threw over the floor than there is on the walls. We’re both laying on our backs, giggling messes.

“Hey, look at me,” Connor said softly.

I do and his eyes look even bluer with the grey covering his beautiful face. “Yes?”

“Let me take some of this off you.” he mumbles and reaches out for my face, wiping gently at my skin with his thumbs, but it does nothing other than smear what’s already there. He laughs, “I don’t think this is working.”

I can’t help but laugh too, “You think? Your hands are covered in paint.” We’re practically hysterical, laughing so hard our stomachs hurt and our jaws ache, and we’re coughing. We look like two absolute messes and I wouldn’t want it to be any other way. And when we’re finally able to control ourselves, I roll closer to my boy and his arms instinctively open, ready for me to curl into his side.

“What the hell happened here?” Brian’s voice startles us minutes later and we pull away from our cuddled position, looking up at our friend.

“Oh, hey.” I say, stifling a laugh.

“‘Oh, hey?’ That’s it? That’s all you have to say? Why are you two covered in paint? What, did you bathe in it? It’s in your hair!”

“We may have gotten a little carried away,” Connor admitted. “Hey, did you bring that ladder?”

“Yeah, it’s downstairs. But we’ll get to that in a minute. Let’s focus here. Why are you covered in paint?”

“He started it-”

“She started it-”

We say together, pointing accusingly at each other.

“I don’t care who started it. Do you realize the mess you’ve made? Look at yourselves. You’re covered head to toe. And the floor! Thank god you put something down. There’s more paint on you and the floor than there is on the walls. And you,” he stepped farther into the room and scoffed, “And you still have two other walls to do? What on earth were you thinking? Do you know that paint is expensive?”

“Are you paying?” Connor challenged.

“No, but you literally just moved in. You have bigger things to worry about than adding paint to your next shopping list.”

“Oh quit being a fun sucker. You’re just mad that you weren’t in on it.”

“Damn right I am! How dare you do this without me?!”

Connor and I exchange a look. “You’re right, Bri,” I stand up, suddenly very aware of just how covered I was. Con really got me good. “And we are so sorry that we didn’t invite you. Can we make it up to you?”

“Well…” he taps his chin and looks up which gives us the chance we need. Connor and I lunge for him, wrapping ourselves around him, covering him in paint too. “Hey, no. Fuck you guys! This is my favorite shirt!” he exclaims.

“It’s plain white, dubass!” Connor shoves his shoulder. “Buy another one.”

---

“I think that’s the last of it, sweetheart.” Connor says, placing his freshly fluffed pillow on his side.

I flatten out the rug at the foot of the bed and smile fondly at the room. “It looks good, don’t you think?” I ask, glancing around the room.

“Mhmm…” he hums, his arms wrapping around my waist. “But you look better.”

“Oh yes,” I mutter. “I’m sure my matted hair and sweat are a huge turn on for you, huh?”

“Well that’s how I leave every night, isn’t it?” He muses, running soft kisses down the side of my neck, to my shoulder, where his teeth sink into my skin.

I can’t stop the moan that escapes my throat and he takes that as encouragement, moving the straps of my tank top to give himself even more access. “Con,” I say, turning in his arms, my hands flying to his hair. “We have to… work on… the bathroom,” I mumble against his lips.

“Later,” he growls. “Wanna love on you for a little bit.”

“But-”

“Baby, I’m doing some of my best work here, you can't just talk through it.”

“Best work, huh? I think you’ve done better.”

“Oh, I have? Well I guess we’re just gonna have to make this my best work then.”

“I’d love to see you try, bub.”

“Don’t challenge me, baby girl.” his hands sneak up my shirt, and back down, sending shivers down my spine as they come back down and he pops the button of my jeans.

“Oh, an eager boy, are we?” I tease.

His hand easily slips down my pants and I gasp. He smirks, “And I’m eager?” his lips graze my ear as he rubs me through my panties, causing my eyes to flutter shut.

“Yeah yeah,” I roll my eyes and pull him back to my lips. “Just keep your promise, okay?”

“I am a man of my word.” Before I know it, he has me on my back on our freshly made bed. But I’m enjoying his lips on my skin too much to worry about that right now. “Okay,” he says, pulling back from my heat where I so desperately need him. “I know I’m kind of busy here, but this rug is really comfortable.”

I laugh, covering my face, “Glad to hear it, now could you?”

“Right, sorry,” he wraps his arms around my thighs and buries his head between them once again. He’s sucking and slurping, while I fill the room with lengthy moans and heavy breaths. “Hmm… so wet for me,” he utters, kissing down my folds.

“Jesus, Connor. More.”

“What do you want, sweetheart?” His lips leave a wet trail down the inside of my thigh and I can't help but whimper when his teeth sink into the sensitive skin. He kisses his way back up and I squirm at the feeling of his lips circling my clit. “Fuck.”

“Use your words, y/n. What do you want?"

“Fingers, Connor. Please. I need you.”

“That’s my girl,” he smirks against me as one finger slips inside, soon followed by another. Let’s just say I don’t last too long after that.

---

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” I ask my husband, fixing the covers on the bed.

“I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“They could never leave.”

He hums, “Good point. But like, they’d have to eventually. I mean, hello! Shaw’s literally always touring. He’ll be here two days and be back on the road.

“And Brian?” I cross my arms over my chest.

He sighs and nods, “Yeah, we might have to kick him out.”

“We’re not giving them a key, right?”

“No, of course not,” he says all too quickly.

“You already gave them one, didn’t you.”

“No…”

“Connor David!”

“I’m sorry! But I told them that it was just for emergencies.”

“A broken nail is an emergency in their eyes.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic. It is no-”

“Y/n? Connor? Are you here? I stubbed my toe on the way up the steps. I think it’s broken!” Shawn’s voice rings from downstairs.

“It’s not broken, he’s a big baby!” Brian comes trailing behind him and I give Connor a pointed look.

“Oops?” he chuckles and we make our way out of the room, closing the door behind us.

“Brashier!” Brian yells.

“What?” we answer in unison and then stop for a second, staring at each other with big dopey grins.

“We’ve never done that before. Answered to the same name.”

I push his hair out of his eyes, “I know.”

“I like that.”

“Me too.”

“What so you can answer us, but not help with my broken toe?” Shawn says, dramatically limping up the stairs.

“It’s not broken,” we all respond.

“It could be!”

“And if it is, that’s your fault for being so goddamn clumsy.”

“But-”

“What are you doing here anyway?”

“Were you not listening? I broke my toe!”

“Yes, we heard. On our porch steps. So what are you doing here?”

He pouts and looks down at his feet. “We missed you guys.”

Connor laughs, and I try my best to stifle mine, but fail miserably.

“Hey! I’m serious. The hotel room is boring!”

“Oh, Shawn,” I step forward and wrap my arms around his torso. “I’m sorry. You’re welcome here anytime. You know that.” I look up at him and he presses a kiss to my nose.

“Glad you mention that. Can I stay the night?”

“What?” Connor says, pulling me back to his chest, keeping his fingers tangled in my belt loops.

“Come on, the hotel sucks! There’s nothing to do!”

“Get a stripper,” he suggests.

“Now why would I hire a stripper when y/n would do it for free?"

“Hey, watch your step, Mendes. That's my wife. I will kill you if I have to.”

I slap Con’s arm, “Bub, stop.” I turn my attention back to our friends. “Yes, Shawn. You can stay the night. But I’m not stripping. I’m off duty today.”

“Oh, but if Connor asked you’d be all for it, right?” Brian teased.

“Well obviously, he’s my husband.”

Connor pinched my side, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I want a stripper tonight,” he mutters teasingly into my ear.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Okay, we’ll get back to that grossness later, but if Shawn’s staying, I want to stay too.”

I know Connor’s rolling his eyes behind me. “Of course you do.”

“Guess we better show them, bub.”

“But it’s still not done.”

“I know, but if they’re staying the night, we might as well.”

“Show us what?”

“The guest room. We designed it specifically for moments like this.” I slide out of Connor’s arms and take a hand of both boys in front of us. “Follow me.” I take them to the end of the hall and face them when we reach the door. “Now, there’s still quite a bit that needs to be done with it, but I think it’ll work for now. Bub, can you open the door?”

“Yeah,” He nods and steps around us, turning the knob, revealing the only half done room to the boys.

“Are those?” Shawn started.

“Bunk beds?” Brian finished with a goofy grin.

Connor chuckles. “We figured if you’re staying here at the same time, you wouldn’t want to sleep in the same bed.”

We watch them exchange a glance and then they’re hurtling themselves toward the beds. “I call top bunk!” Shawn exclaims.

“Why so you can hit your head every time you sit up, you fucking giant. No way! I get top bunk.”

“With the way you toss and turn? No way. You’ll wiggle the bed from its screws and it’ll fall on top of me!”

“Fuck off, Shawn! I don’t even move that much.”

“Yes you do!”

“Should we leave them to fight over this?” Connor whispers into my ear, taking my left hand in his. I nod against his chest.

“Do we trust them not to break anything?”

“I think it’ll be fine. Besides, I have a surprise for you.”

“For me?” I ask, intrigued. “What could you possibly have to give me.”

“It’s not necessarily something I’m giving you. It’s something I’m showing you.”

“Okay?” I follow him down the hall, the boys bickering still audible from the steps - and from the living room, where Connor has a large sheet covering the wall with the window. “So, I know you’ve been curious about this for a few weeks now.”

“Well obviously, you’ve been covering a big part of our living room, making it impossible for me to hang the curtains-” I go to point to the box that had been sitting by the fireplace, but is no longer there. I furrow my brows, “Did you move them?”

“No, just hung them up.”

“Is that my surprise?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Nope. Close your eyes.”

“But-”

“Close. Them.”

I sigh and do as instructed. “They’re closed.”

“Good. Now keep them that way until I say so.”

“Fine,” I cross my arms over my chest. I hear the rustling of the sheet and a soft thud as it hits the ground. The light from outside shines even through my closed lids.

“Okay,” he says, his voice coming from behind me now. “Open them.”

I open only one eye, but they quickly both go wide when I see the wall in front of me, covered in black and white photos, the perfect contract to the red walls that Connor finally agreed on - after much coercion. (Well, really all it took was one blowjob and he was putty in my hands, but, hey, whose business is that… but if it’s that easy to get him to agree to a paint color, I wonder what else that can get me.) If my eyes aren’t deceiving me, they’re all of us. Past to present - the most recent being one of our wedding photos. I walk closer to the photos, noticing that not a single one of them repeats. I cover my face, feeling the tears start to well in my eyes.

“Well? Do you like it?” He asks, hopefully, when I turn back to face him.

I sniffle, wiping at my tears and then I’m in his arms, holding onto him for dear life. “You are…” another sniffle. “You are incredible. I love it,” I pull away just enough to see his face and he removes his arms from my waist, his hands coming to my face, the pads of his thumbs swiping at my still falling tears. “And I love you. So much.”

He smiles, kissing my, no doubt, red nose. “I love you too, y/n/n.”

---

“Tell me again why we’re making a blanket fort,” I said, standing at the end of the stairs, holding a few more pillows.

“Because it’s fun. And also the only way to watch a movie decently,” Brian crawls out from under the blanket he and Shawn just threw over the couch and lamp. “Oh good, you got the pillows.”

“Where’s Connor?” I ask, looking around, not seeing or hearing my husband in the room.

“Under here, love. Hey, do we have an extension cord somewhere?”

“Maybe in the garage. Why?”

“The lights don’t reach from here.”

“What lights?”

“I took the Christmas lights from the box in the closet. It was too dark under here.”

“Babe, just use the lamps.”

“One of the bulbs is out.”

“We have more.”

“Yeah, but they’re in a box somewhere and I didn’t feel like looking for them.”

“Connor, if those lights catch the blankets on fire, you’re sleeping on the couch for the rest of your life.”

He sighs, coming out from under the too big fort that’s taken over our living room. “Fine, I’ll find the bulbs.” He grumbles, the lights trailing behind him as he walks down the hall to the garage.

I shake my head, “I love you,” I call out when the door opens.

“I love you more!” he yells back.

“Okay, so I ordered the pizza and wings. They should be here in thirty minutes.”

“I found the bulbs!” Connor says, rushing in and placing a kiss to my cheek before disappearing under the blankets again.

“Why are you running?”

“I think I heard something move in the garage.” “Connor!” I exclaim.

“Dang, how often do you do that?” Brian teases, nudging my side.

“Craigen, I swear to god, I will fight you.”

“Oh, hush. I’m just teasing.” He kisses my other cheek and follows behind Connor with the pillows I was holding.

“So, what are y/n and I supposed to do?”

“Just stand there and look pretty, I guess. You’re good at that,” Brian grumbles.

“Well,” I sit on one of the steps, patting the spot next to me, “I’m not one for standing.”

Shawn smiles and sits next to me. “Well, since they’re setting up, we should pick a movie.”

"I think it should be an Alessia night."

Shawn tilts his head to the side, giving me a funny look. "You know she doesn't act, right?"

"Obviously! I mean, we should watch movies with her songs in them. Everything Everything, Moana, After."

"Fuck, yes! Let's watch Moana!" Brian stumbles out from his spot in the fort.

"As long as it's not Everything Everything, I'm down for whatever." Connor says, coming over to us and resting his chin on the banister.

"Why doesn't he want to watch it?"

"You want me to watch my girl drool over some guy that isn't me for an hour and a half? No thank you."

"What?" Shawn chuckles and I roll my eyes.

"Hubby, here, thinks I have a thing for Nick Robinson."

"And why would he think that?" Brian asks.

"Because I have a thing for Nick Robinson," I answer like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"See! So, no. We won't watch it."

The movie is just about to start when the doorbell rings. "Must be the pizza. I got it." Shawn crawls to the opening of the fort and Brian follows after him.

"I'll get the plates and napkins."

"Ah," Connor wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer to him. "Finally, some alone time." His lips dance over my jaw and I giggle, trying to push him away.

"Come on, love. The boys will be back any second."

"I don't care." He shakes his head, capturing my lips in a heated kiss. I hum against him, gripping the side of his shirt to keep me close. His tongue quickly finds mine and I don't know what is, but this feels like our first kiss all over again. Of course then we were sitting on the hood of his car, at the beach, watching the sun go down. "I love you," he says, out of breath as he nibbles on my bottom lip.

I stifle a moan, but I'm not sure if it's from the words or the slight pull on my lip.

"Gross, you guys can't wait until we're asleep go have at each other?" Brian groans, coming back into the fort. "Move over," he says to Connor.

"Why?"

"Because I'm not watching a movie with you two sucking face right next to me." He plops himself down, partially in both of our laps seeing as we don't move fast enough.

“Hey, you’re boney. Get off!” I push him to the side so I can move over a little.

We make it through the movie without too many interruptions, until Shawn scoots closer to me and rests his head in my lap. He takes my hand and sets it on his head.

“Whatcha doing there, cutie?” I ask, threading my fingers through his hair.

He hums, “Want you to play with my hair. Your nails feel nice.”

“Okay,” I shake my head, turning my attention back to the screen.

“It doesn’t feel this nice when Connor does it.”

“Um, excuse you. What do you mean it doesn’t feel nice?! I’m great at playing with your hair!” He exclaims, throwing a handful of popcorn at Shawn, who sits up, throwing some back and I immediately regret us having two separate bowls.

“She’s gentler than you are.”

“She loves it when I play with her hair! You’re just a baby!”

“Maybe she’s just too nice to tell you that you’re too rough with it. You don’t have the nails for it. She does.”

“Baby?” He looks at me with pouty eyes. “You like when I play with your hair, right?”

I frown, “Shawn, you hurt his feelings!” I slap his arm and he winces. “Yes, love. I do.”

“Yeah, that’s great. You all have hands and shit, now can you shut up? I’m trying to watch a movie here!” Brian grumbles, curling into the blanket in his lap.

“Wait, is it almost over?” Shawn asks after a while. “Let’s call Les.”

“What? Why?”

“Let’s sing to her! She’ll love it!” He says, already trying to connect to FaceTime.

“Hey, Shawn. What’s up?”

“Hi, my love!” I come into frame, smiling widely at my friend.

“Y/n! What are you guys doing?”

“Well,” I take the phone from Shawn and turn it to the side so we can get Connor and Brian in the frame too. “The boys and I are having a movie night in this very impromptu blanket fort that took them over an hour to set up. And we’re just thinking about you.”

“Missing you,” Brian corrects. “When are you coming down? Their guest room has bunk beds!”

“Bunk beds?” she laughs. “Liv! Y/n and Connor have bunk beds!”

“For us?” We hear her ask and Connor and I shake our heads.

“Well, they’re currently occupied by these two Canadians, but once they leave, we can make room for two more.”

“Oh thank god.”

“Connor!” Liv yells, shoving her face next to Alessia’s.

“Liv!” he yells back.

“You treating our girl well?”

“In more ways than one,” he smirks.

“Connor!” I gasp, lunging for him. Shawn takes the opportunity to steal the phone back.

“Oh god! Cover the camera, Shawn. They’re going at it!” Brian jokes when I straddle myself over Con’s lap. His hands firmly on my waist.

“Well am I wrong?” he raises an eyebrow, challenging me.

I run my fingers over his perfect, pouty lips. “No, but they don’t need to know that.” He playfully bites at the tips of my fingers and I throw my head back with a soft giggle.

“Get a room!” Shawn scolds, throwing a pillow at us.

“The whole house is our room, dick!” Connor fires back, squeezing my hips a little tighter.

“So, what are you guys watching?” Alessia asks. And before any of us can answer the ending credits roll through and her voice fills the speakers. Brian starts and we can’t stop him, so we join in.

“I wish I could be the perfect daughter, but I come back to the water. No matter how hard I try.” He sings totally off key, and so loud, but it’s Brian, what are you gonna do?

“Every turn I take,” Shawn continues.

“Every trail I track.” Me.

“Every path I make.” Connor.

“Every road leads back to the place I know where I cannot go.” Shawn again.

“Where I long to be,” We all sing together.

“See the light where the sky meets the sea, it calls me!” she finishes, laughing hysterically with Liv beside her, continuing the song for us.

“Why are you watching Moana?” she asks when she’s finally calmed herself down.

“We told you. We missed you.”

“We were gonna watch Everything Everything, but we’re trying to keep Connor from divorcing y/n.”

“What? Why would he-?”

“She has a thing for Nick Robinson!”

“Who doesn’t? Connor get a grip!”

“I have one,” he says, showing the camera our joined hands. “And I’d like to keep it.”

“Awe,” I rest my head on his chest. “Don’t worry,” I mumble into the smooth skin of his neck. “Nick Robinson has nothing on you.” I press a gentle kiss to the base of his throat, “I’ll prove it to you later.”

“Hmm… don't tease me.”

---

"Y/n, can you come here for a second?"

"What's wrong, love?" I finish laying out the beach chair make my way over to him, where he's cleaning out the pool.

"What is that on the floor? It's kind of grey," he points in a general direction and I squint, trying to find what he's talk about.

"I don't see anything."

"Well look closer. Look, it's right there." He points again, his other hand on the small of my back. I sense the push before I feel it, which is how I'm able to bring him in with me.

"You're an asshole, Brashier," I splash him when we come up for air.

He pushes his hair out of his face before holding his hands out for me. "Okay. I'm sorry. But you have to admit, it was kinda funny."

"You know, this is the third outfit you've ruined this week." I wrap my legs around his waist and his hands slip under my butt.

"It’s just wet. We'll dry it."

"Mhm… and the flannel I wore yesterday? I'm pretty sure one of the buttons is under your desk, Mr. Impatient." I kiss the underside of his jaw, playing with the tufts of hair on the nape of his neck.

"That's only two, if you're counting this one. Which I don't."

"My leggings," I answer, sucking a perfectly purple mark behind his ear. "Monday night on the kitchen counter."

"Well how was I supposed to know the seam would tear that easy?" he grumbles, pushing up my shirt, his hands running over my wet skin. "But let's get out of here before I do ruin this outfit too."

After a very steamy - and that's not entirely because of the water - shower together, Connor's sitting on the bed in just his boxers and I'm slipping into one of his flannels, just in case he gets any bright ideas. And I know I've made the right decision when I turn back and see his usually bright blue eyes dark with lust.

"What's up, baby blue?"

"C'mere, baby doll."

Oh yeah, he's in a mood. But it's going to end very well for both of us. "Don't you ever get tired?" I ask, straddling his lap.

"Of you? God, are you crazy?" His hand tails slowly from my cheek to my throat, bringing me in for a heated kiss. I moan into the kiss and his tongue slips easily into my mouth while his grip on my throat tightens a little.

"What am I calling you tonight?" I question, when he pulls away, forehead resting on mine.

"You should know by now."

I smirk, "Yes sir."

And that's all it takes for him to flip us over, his body hovering over me. He unbuttons the shirt, moving it to the side, exposing my torso for him. He quickly pulls my panties down and I'm surprised he doesn't tear them.

"Fuck," he mutters against my chest when he pushes himself inside me. "Feel so good around me, doll." I reach around him, scratching at his back, but he takes my hands, and pins them above my head. "No touching."

"But-"

He pulls on my bottom lip, "are you talking back?"

"No, sir."

"Good girl." He's working on my clit, kissing me everywhere, leaving love bites all down my torso. "You're so good for me."

"Baby, I'm close," I moan into his neck. "Cum for me, doll. Scream for me. Let the neighbors know just how good I make you feel." He says with a grunt. "Fuck, I'm close too."

"Hey, Connor, where's your - Holy shit!" The door swings open revealing our red headed friend with his hands covering his eyes.

"Brian!" We both yell, Connor still very much on top of and inside me. "Get out!"

"I'm sorry! Fuck! I'll just," he closes the door behind him. "I'll be downstairs when you uh. Finish."

Connor laughs into my chest, but I'm mortified. "Con?"

"Yeah, love?" He says and he's no longer the dominant man he was only seconds ago. He's just Connor, my Connor. Which is why it's easy for me to say, "We're taking his key back."

He nods, "First thing I'll do when we go down there."

I whimper when I feel him pull out of me. "Guess the moment's gone, huh?"

I shake my head, pulling him back, my back arching when he enters me again. "Finish, blue eyes. Please."

"But, Brian."

"Already knows what we're doing. He can wait."

He chuckles, "Yeah, love. He can wait." He says, slipping back into me.

Brian can't look us in the eyes when we come back down.

"So why'd you come?" I ask.

Brian shakes his head, "I can't remember. But I know why you did."

"Brian!" I cry out.

He laughs, patting Connor's shoulder. "Thought she only screamed your name, didn't you bud?"

"Haha, very funny. Yeah, we need your key."

***

I really hope you enjoyed! Like, reblog, and leave feedback!!

Tag: @sunrise-shawn @anamariel2301 @shawns-badreputation @bbellbagel @turtoix @ivegotparticulartaste @tomshufflepuff @dino-16-avocado @sleepybesson @lifeoftheparty74 @shawnssongs @luvluvxx @foreveralone19588 @shawnandconnor @5-seconds-of-mendes @emma-manuhpe @nedthegay @shawnsblue

Connor Tag: @shawnm521 @divinginfearlessly @enchantingbrowneyedgirl @bettroff @myyohmyuohmyy @madison-malfoy @shawnieeboyy @mutuallynotmutual @tinycertain @rockstarshawnmendes @lostinmendess @sunrisebrashx @alinaxxshawn @definitelynotshawnmendes

#Connor brashier #connor brashier x y/n #connor brashier imagine #connor brashier x reader #connor brashier imagines #connor brashier fanfiction #connor brashier blurb #connor brashier smut #CONcept

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seaveyy-sayys · 4 years

Text

Best friends brother • Zach Herron

Warnings? Cursing, fluff asf

If a part two is wanted I’ll make it.

Summary: you’re best friends with Ryan Herron and stayed with them while in quarantine.

1st person POV

Ryan Herron, my best friend since, well, forever. I was at Ryan’s house when the dreaded quarantine thing happened. That’s when we decided, what’s better than quarantine with your best friend? The answer is nothing. Well it was until Zach got here...

———

“Honestly I think this has to be our best idea yet!” I said while taking a freshly baked cookie off the tray. Ryan nodded, “who knew quarantining with your best friend could be such a blast!” I furrowed my brows, “Um, If I do recall, I did.” Ryan agreed with me. However, our conversation soon got interrupted.

“The favorite child just got here!” Zach yelled through the house. I sighed...heavily. Zach was the most annoying human on the planet, there wasn’t a time when he didn’t pick on me. He was constantly telling me I should date Ryan, even though he knows I’m two years older. In fact, I was closer in age to Zach than Ryan and he still insisted that we should date.

“Y/N!! Ah, my favorite person!” Zach said engulfing me in a hug, I hugged him back. Although Zach was annoying as fuck, we were still like family. “So, are you two dating yet?” He asked, I glared at him with annoyance, “You ask that question everytime you see us and the answer is always the same.”

“So I take that as a no.” Zach replied. As I was about to answer Reese came rushing down the stairs. “Zach!” She yelled hugging him. “Where’s mom and dad?” He wondered, I motioned my head towards the basement door, “They’re going through old things in the basement.”

Zach pushes past us and opens the dark brown door that lead to the basement. “Mom! Dad!” Was all he had to say. Myta and Josh hugged him so much his face got red from embarrassment, which I didn’t really understand why, everyone in the house was already family to him. “I love you guys too, but please no more hugging.” Myta and Josh backed away, “Right, you were probably over loaded with hugs before we even got up here.” Myta laughed, Zach nodded in response.

Zach found his way to the kitchen after unpacking, I sat at the island talking with Ryan. “What are you two lovebirds talking about?” Zach interrupted leaning against the counter and snatching a cookie from the plate infront of us, which was nearly empty. I flipped him off while smiling. In response, he put his hands over his heart and said, “Oh so sweet.” I giggled a bit at his actions and Zach smiled. I turned my attention away from Zach and onto Ryan, “As I was saying before someone rudely butted in,” I looked at Zach, “I like Jaeden, but I think our personalities clash a little.”

“Woah woah woah, who’s Jaeden?” Zach interrupted once again. I sighed, “Jaeden Martell, he’s an actor. I met him before quarantine, we’ve actually been friends for a while.” I explained. “Ok, but how’d you meet him?” Zach asked, I rolled my eyes, “My mom was a photographer at one of his shoots, and I just so happened to go with her that day.” Zach nodded slowly, “So you like him?” he questioned. I huffed, “Yes? Kind of? I don’t know yet! Now please stop interrogating me!” I yelled grabbing Ryan’s arm and pulling him up stairs to his room.

———

I gasped for air while grabbing my chest. I slept in the guest room like I always did, however, the bed in there always have me nightmares. My phone lay beside me, “Three AM, great.” I whispered to myself, expecting the whole house to be in bed. Quietly, I snuck downstairs and into the kitchen. I flicked on the light and grabbed a glass from the cupboard above me. I stood on my tip toes trying to reach on glass that was pushed way back, needless to say I was quite short.

I felt hovering against my back as I tried once more to reach the glass. From the side of my vision a hand grabbed the glass I was reaching for. I spun around quickly to be met by Zach, a slight smirk creeping onto his face. “Need this?” He said holding the glass out in front of him. I had been leaning against the counter while he hovered over me, his hand laying on the countertop beside me. I quickly took the glass out of his hand and pushed past him to grab the Apple juice out of the fridge.

“Thanks,” I said closing the fridge, “but I couldve done it myself.” I set the apple juice on the island while Zach sat spinning at the barstool across from me. “Really? Because it looked like you were struggling?” He laughed. “Yes I could’ve- wait why are you awake?” I questioned, his eyebrow lifted, “Why are YOU awake?” I turned around and put the juice back in the fridge, “You know I get nightmares.”

“Right, I forgot, same one as usual?” Zach answered, I looked down at the wooden floor, “Yeah...” I mumbled. He placed his hand on mine and rubbed the back of my hand with his thumb, “I’m here if you need to talk about it.” I smiled at the boy, “Thanks Zach, but I’m ok.”

I finished my apple juice, setting the glass in the dishwasher. As I walked out of the kitchen I turned back to Zach, “Goodnight Zach” He smiled at me, “Goodnight Y/N.”

———

It was around eight AM when Zach barged into my room, “Y/N!” He yelled, “I’m gonna need you to make more cookies.” I glared at him, my eyebrows furrowed and and a look of annoyance on my face, “You ate them all?!” I exclaimed.

“Well yeah they were really good. Plus you know I can’t help myself when you make cookies, you’re probably the best baker I’ve ever met. You should make the cake for our birthday.” Zach continued to ramble as I thought about our birthday. Ever since we were little we shared a birthday party, although he was a year older than me, we called ourselves birthday twins. We even used to have conjoined birthday parties, that was until he moved in with the Why Don’t We boys. At that moment I hadn’t realized how much I missed him, how much I missed being asked about Ryan and I, how much I missed when he picked on me. Although he was probably the most annoying person to ever exist I really did miss him endlessly.

I cut off Zachs rambling with a hug, “I really missed you, even though you make me want to pull out my hair, I really fucking missed you.” I said into his chest. Taken aback for a second, he sighed, then wrapped his arms around me and placed a kiss on the top of my head, “I missed you too, way more than I originally planned if I’m being honest.” He hugged me tighter.

“Zach! Come here and help me lift this!” Myta called from downstairs. Zach looked over his shoulder, then back at me, “I better go help her.” He laughed awkwardly. I let go of him, but before leaving he pulled my head towards him and kissed the top of my forehead once more. “I expect those cookies in an hour!” He yelled while going down the stairs. I laughed to myself, “What a dork.” I whispered.

Ryan came speeding through the hallway and pushed me into my room shutting the door behind us. “What was that?!” He asked loudly. I looked at him confused, “Um hugging? Sibling love?” He facepalmed, “That was not sibling love, you guys aren’t even siblings!” He retorted. “I don’t know seemed a lot like sibling love to me.” By this point Ryan was getting annoyed, “You guys barely even like each other, all he does is pick on you.”

Ryan was right, Zach and I never really got along, he’s teased me since we were kids. In the past few years, when Zach picked on me it actually gave me confort. It showed that fame didn’t change him, that he was still that annoying kid from down the street.

“I know he picks on me, I know we don’t get along, but I don’t know, I just missed him more than I thought.” I told Ryan. He sighed at my response, “I get it, sorry I freaked out.” I smiled warmly at the boy and pulled him into a hug, “It’s alright, I’d freak out too if you and my sister were hugging after being mean to each other for 12 years.”

“I really should make more cookies though, there’s only like 2 more left.” I said pulling out of the hug. “No no, there’s probably no more left, zach and Reese probably ate them.” He corrected while following me downstairs, we laughed.

“Enjoying quarantine I take it?” Myta asked from the bottom of the stairs. “It’s not so bad when you’re with your second family.” I smiled. She nodded and walked away smiling.

I pulled out two big baking trays to put the cookies on, the ingredients for the cookies, the measuring cups, and the mixer. “Can I help?” A voice asked from behind me. To my surprise it was Zach, usually Ryan was the one to help me bake. I shrugged, “Yeah, go ahead, I don’t mind.” I slid over making room at the counter. “Hey, I’m gonna go set up the blanket fort in the living room, maybe Reese will help.” Ryan said from the island. I nodded in response.

“Why do you wanna help? You never help me bake.” I asked turning to Zach while he mixed the batter together. “Exactly, I never help you bake. Plus, I said before you’re the best baker I know, and I know the boys would love your cookies.” He told me, I lifted my eyebrow, “So you’re here to steal my recipe?” Zach laughed, “Well, yes, technically.”

“Speaking of the boys, when do I get to meet them, you know I’m practically Why Don’t We’s number one fan.” I questioned. Zach stopped the mixer and looked at me, “What do you mean? You can meet them whenever, you’re always welcome to come over.” He answered. I laughed, “I am? Kind of funny since I’ve never once been informed when you live.” Zach bit the inside of his cheek, “Yeah I guess knowing our address would help.” I laughed again putting in the chocolate chips, “The secret is too put an extra handful of chocolate chips.” I told him.

I curled up in the blanket fort in between Zach and Ryan, Reese decided she didn’t want to be squished so she stayed on the couch, with a bowl of popcorn all too herself. We watched High School Musical 2, having watched the first one last night. Unsurprisingly, Zach sung through every song right in my ear.

Reese fell asleep on the couch, and Ryan went up to bed before the movie ended because he couldn’t stand Zach singing through the whole movie. So Zach and I folded the blankets ourselves. I grabbed the popcorn bowl from beside Reese who was curled up with her blanket. “I’m gonna put her in her bed, I’ll be back down to help in a second.” Zach said while picking up reese. “There’s not really much else to do, you don’t have to come back down.” I reassured him. Zach frowned, “I don’t care, I don’t want to leave you to do the rest by yourself, I’ll feel bad.” I huffed, “Fine”

I was washing the dishes when I heard footsteps from behind me, I spun around just before Zach scared me. “Gotcha!” I exclaimed, “Zach, I’ve known you for 12 years, I know you like the back of my hand.” I leaned against the sink with my arms crossed. “You don’t know everything.” He answered, and soon enough we found ourselves in the same position we had been in the previous night.

“I don’t know everything, but I know much more than majority.” I said poking his chest and pushing past him to grab a towel for the dishes. Zach himself also grabbed a towel to dry dishes with.

I sat on the island while zach put the dishes away. “You know there are chairs behind you right?” Zack spoke. “Yeah, but sitting on the counter makes me feel taller.” I admitted. He let out a small laugh, “Everything is done, you can go up to bed.” He pointed out. “Nah, I don’t feel like walking up the stairs.” I said looking at my nails. Zach walked towards me, “Do I need to carry you?” I smiled sheepishly, “Well if you insist.” I clung to him like a Koala. Zach let out a laugh and picked me up. I buried my head in the crook of his neck as he carried me. He smelled nice, something I never really noticed. His smell was indescribable, like a scent of his own, a good scent though.

When we approached my room I lifted my head up, his eyes met mine as a small smile crept onto my face, zach smiled too. It wasn’t until that moment that I knew why I missed him so much, why I hoped fame didn’t change him. He was Zach, my home, the person who I had loved from the get go and I didn’t even know. He pushed my hair behind my ear so he could see my face more clearer. Before I knew it I was being thrown onto the bed.

“Hey! You ruined the moment!” I whisper yelled sitting on my bed cross-crossed. He looked at me from the door way, “They’ll be more, don’t you worry.” He answered while walking out of the room. “Wait, Zach!” I called. He poked his head through the door way, “Goodnight.” I said. He smiled at me, “Goodnight.”

———

I gasped for air again, my hand on my chest. I looked at my phone, three AM...again. “Lovely.” I whispered to myself. Slowly I sat up placing my feet on the cold floor. It was quiet, something that barely existed in the Herron household.

I opened my door slowly so it wouldn’t make a noise and snuck into the bedroom at the other end of the hall. Inside Zach lay there sleeping. “Zach.” I whispered, “Zach.” I shook him this time. He responded with a lazy hum. “I had a nightmare.” I explained.

Zach moved over a bit and lifted up the covers, “Come over here you goon.” He answered with a lazy smile. I climbed under the covers next to him, his arm wrapped around my waist and he cuddled into me. I’ve never fallen asleep faster.

#zach herron #imagine #jack avery #daniel seavey #wdw band #wdw imagines #wdw zach #wdw boys #wdw music #why dont we #zach herron imagines #jonah marais #limelights #wdw #corbyn besson

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hellzyeahwebwielingessays · 4 years

Text

The Not-So-Amazing Mary Jane Part 19: MJ is NOT a super hero

Previous Part

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Master Post

Mary Jane is an incredibly gifted woman who you don’t want to mess with. But do those gifts really make her a hero, one who could take on Mysterio?

I was initially planning on looking at Mary Jane’s combat record in this post. However, before doing that there needs to be a dash more context to really put things into perspective.

I could simply cite Sen v2 #32 to prove my point. In this issue the Parker family are on the run since Peter unmasked and opposed the Super Human Registration Act. At her wits end MJ contacted Sue Richards for guidance.

During their conversation MJ opens up about how stressed she is. She even refers to Sue and other heroes as ‘you people’, clearly demarking a difference between them and herself.

Sue basically tells MJ to toughen up, referencing herself, Jessica Jones and Storm, the (then) wives of Reed Richards, Luke Cage and Black Panther respectively.

However, at the end of the conversation MJ points out the difference between herself those women was that she didn’t have powers to fall back on.

There you are. MJ herself acknowledging she has no powers and is not a super hero.

End of discussion.

Well no, because we can dive much deeper.

Let me start with this irrefutable statement: Mary Jane is a bad ass.

She truly is.

Mentally, emotionally, physically, she’s pulled off some truly impressive things.

But the thing is those things she’s pulled off…they wouldn’t be that impressive (if at all) if say, Wonder Woman did them. Or She Hulk. Or Mockingbird. Or Batgirl/Barbra Gordon. Or you know…Spider-Man himself.

So why do fans gravitate towards these things, these feats of heroism, self-defence and protection of others?

Because they are impressive considering Mary Jane is NOT a super hero.

You see it’s all a matter of scale.

The Chameleon is a trained and experienced mercenary but doesn’t possess any super human powers beyond the ability to change how he looks. In what has become one of her most iconic moments, Mary Jane defeated him with a mere baseball bat. This occurred when she knew what to expect, when Chameleon was underestimating her and when he was unarmed. That is impressive no doubt.

But were the situation the same but Batgirl was substituted for Mary Jane it wouldn’t nearly be as impressive because Batgirl, even with just a baseball bat, is at worst on a similar power level as the Chameleon. But in all seriousness is almost certainly his superior in terms of combat proficiency. She’s thoroughly trained in various forms of hand-to-hand combat, strategy, thinking on the back foot and highly experienced.

And experienced against people who’re actually much more physically dangerous than the Chameleon, such as Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy or the Joker. When you remove Chameleon’s stealth and weapons you are left with someone who is highly violent and could kill the average civilian if given the chance…but ultimately not someone as dangerous as most of the famous super villains from Marvel or DC.

If anything arming Batgirl with a baseball bat would be needlessly excessive, she could defeat Chameleon with just some punches or kicks.

Now apply that same scenario but substitute in Mockingbird, who can dent steel with her bare hands and has an accelerated healing factor and arguably superior fighting skills to Batgirl. Or how about She-Hulk, someone with vastly more strength, an even better healing factor and immensely more durability. And as Wonder Woman…she is literally a millennia old demi-goddess with divinely empowered durability, strength and speed, fast enough in fact to easily deflect bullets. *

If you were told any of these women defeated the Chameleon with ‘just a baseball bat’ would you be impressed? Would you feel that’s a huge accomplishment for any of them?

Of course not.

Because on even an incredibly rudimentary power scale common sense would clearly define for you that Chameleon wouldn’t be a physical threat to any of them.

Because they are actual super heroes wit either physically enhanced physiologies or advanced equipment or highly practiced expert level combat training.

The reason MJ dispatching the Chameleon has been celebrated for over 20 years is because none of that applies to her.

Let’s unpack exactly what MJ does and doesn’t have in her arsenal.

Mary Jane lacks any bona fide super human abilities or advanced combat training.

She has experienced being targeted directly by criminals or being caught up in criminal encounters. But these are intermittent experiences resulting from either her association with people the criminals have a grudge against (typically Spider-Man) or plain bad luck. She does not regularly in her day-to-day life deal with such things nor does she even deal with them on a weekly basis in her life. If she does they are likely the result of simply living in Marvel’s version of New York city, which thereby means most of her experiences are the same as the average resident of the city.

Apart from these intermittent experiences (and exempting her seeking help from others) the traits she possesses that might (in one capacity or another) be applicable in a dangerous situation are as follows:

She is a physically fit woman approximately aged between 24 and her mid-30s. But nowhere close to being Olympic athlete levels of fitness.

Excerpt from ‘The Official Handbook of the Marvel Universe: Spider-Man 2004’

In terms of conventional/stereotypical beauty standards she is generally considered to be stunningly attractive. She is 5’8” and weighs in at 120 lbs. Her outward appearance then could potentially be used to make her would-be assailants underestimate her or even be dazzled by her beauty as a distraction

Mary Jane is not blind to the harsher realities of life and has developed proficient street smarts. But it’s not like she knows where to find stool pigeons and how to go about shaking them down for information, nor the inner workings of the criminal underworld.

She is a skilled actress particular practiced at adopting the façade of a seemingly carefree and simple party girl

She is at worst rather experienced when it comes to flirtation. Arguably we could extrapolate this into her being decent at general seduction but that’s debatable

She has good at improvising

She is exceptionally skilled in social interactions

She has a pretty decent ability to read people’s personalities, but is not a fully trained psychologist or any similar field that’d make her an expert at reading people very quickly and taking advantage of them as a result

She has certain basic self-defence skills gleamed from classes most people can attend

She has had at exactly one basic training session with Captain America, where the focus was more upon mental discipline and focus. The session never implied he taught her any practical self-defence moves and the session was geared more to instructing Peter not Mary Jane.

She has demonstrated/developed certain basic and unrefined (albeit often proficient) self-defence skill. These primarily consist of using melee weapons (typically objects not actually designed for such a purpose, like baseball bats) and to a lesser extent firearms, and to an even lesser extent hand-to-hand attacks. Mary Jane for instance has never been shown to practice using a handgun, although she does know how. She can slug someone in the jaw, but she’s never been shown to have trained how to do that, you see what I am getting at.

Technically speaking she possesses a pair of bracelets that are modified web-shooters, along with a set of regular web-shooters.

The former have a limited amount of web-fluid and are designed to stall a target, with the aim being for Mary Jane to surprise her assailant and buy time to escape, not engage in an outright fight. She has been shown to rarely carry either of these on her person though and there is no implication she has them in Amazing Mary Jane #1. Additionally since she is on set it would be unlikely that she’d be allowed to wear them as they wouldn’t be part of her on outfit for the movie.

Along with most of New York she has possessed identical powers to Spider-Man (in addition to organic based web-shooters) for less than 24 hours, during which time she displayed a proficiency in using them (due to bad writing, literally no one struggled to adjust to the use of Spider-Man’s powers). She has never possessed these powers again since, and this includes in AMJ.

On a handful of occasions she has piloted various different advanced armoured suits designed by Tony Stark. These have chiefly included his rudimentary MKII armour and the Iron Spider armour originally designed for Peter’s use.

In both she demonstrated proficient defence skills. It is not clear how easy the armours are to use so whether MJ’s proficiency was due to a natural skill or due to the armour’s design is debatable. Regardless there is no indication she regularly has access to this technology and certainly not in AMJ.

MJ possesses incredibly strong willpower and understands the need for self-sacrifice, demonstrating in her time a willingness to give something of her self for the good of others. This could be important in regards to protecting other people.

As you can see MJ’s skillset is impressive for a civilian.

But some instances (like the Stark armours she’s donned) make the depths of her skills unclear. The most advanced equipment she has access to are her web-shooters but she is shown to only use or even carry them on occasion. In both cases she is not shown to have access to either in AMJ. Her other skills are things anyone in real life could hypothetically possess and in fact several other civilians in the Marvel universe either do possess or could possess.

What I'm saying is Mary Jane is, by any metric, a civilian.

A civilian who knows how to use a gun, has had cause to defend her self dozens of times and is very good at thinking on her feet. But a civilian nevertheless.

She has the spirit to cut it as a superhero but not without powers, training or access to advanced equipment like Iron Man’s armour. None of which she currently possesses or has access to in AMJ.

When you get right down to it the reason we fans celebrate whenever Mary Jane triumphs or survives or even just pulls off some good moves against a criminal or super villain is because we understand she is ultimately the underdog.

We grasp that it’s innately more impressive for someone in the featherweight division to even hold their own for a little while against someone in the heavyweight division because normally they wouldn’t stand a chance and we are naturally inclined to be sympathetic towards them.**

This isn’t exclusive to Mary Jane by any means, underdog stories date back to the Bible itself with the classic tale of David and Goliath.

To use an example closer to home though, in ASM #229-230 Spider-Man had to stop the Juggernaut, a villain whose strength and durability had given him a reputation as unstoppable. He regularly tangled with the Hulk and was over all far beyond Spider-Man’s weight class. The story is widely regarded as one of the all time best in Spider-Man history, primarily because it is such a shining example of an underdog story.

Such stories are fairly common in super hero comic books, but so too is the popularity of civilian supporting characters that contend with outright super villains and criminals.

Alfred Pennyworth is utterly beloved within the Batman fandom with his attempts and successes at dealing with Batman’s infamous rogues celebrated. The same goes for Edwin Jarvis, sometimes celebrated as the bravest of all the Avengers. Jarvis’ popularity is such he was in fact the main character of the milestone 400th issue of the Avengers. And to use a closer equivalent to MJ, Lois Lane’s moments of skill, toughness and bravery in the face of danger are celebrated within Superman circles.

NONE of these characters are super heroes. Even Alfred, who (in most modern incarnations) has some military history, is still a more elderly gentleman thereby accentuating his vulnerability and making his victories all the larger.

With that out of the way, we now have the appropriate context to start examining some instances of MJ defending herself.

* And what about Spider-Man himself? Has he not tangled with Chameleon often? Is it not usually impressive whenever he defeats him? Indeed it is…but rarely whenever Spider-Man physically over powers him.

Because we readers are very aware that Spider-Man is physically stronger and faster than the Chameleon and his other powers give him yet more physical advantage over him.

In fact a poignant Chameleon storyline entailed Chameleon (in disguise) tricking Spider-Man into removing his powers and thereby rendering him vulnerable.

Even then, the Chameleon opted to hire muscle (mainly muscle with super powers) to take on Spider-Man rather than fight him personally.

Chameleon’s awareness of Spidey’s superior might is arguably the reason he recruited physically powerful Kraven the Hunter in ASM v1 #15 (Kraven’s debut and Chammy’s second outing).

Spidey’s victories over Chameleon are impressive or cathartic not because Peter overpowers him physically, but does so mentally. This is in fact showcased in the very same storyline that Mary Jane famously took a bat to Chammy’s cranium; specifically Spec #243.

In this story, Chameleon (in the guise of Doctor Kafka) uses drugs and makeup to trick Spider-Man into believing he is someone else. However, drawing upon his will power and affection for his loved ones Peter breaks free of Chameleon’s trap.

**And I’d be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge that a part of that for at least some fans is the fact that Mary Jane is a woman doing such things, and a female love interest to boot.

Stereotypically women aren’t superheroes or action heroes, and stereotypically love interests are the ones in need of saving, not the ones saving themselves or others.

For some fans this appreciation of stereotypes being subverted can come from a bad place. “Mary Jane just beat a super villain even though she’s a chick!”

For others the appreciation can be viewed as empowering. To perhaps reveal a stereotypical view of my own, I imagine female readers would constitute the majority of this category, although in theory anyone who feels like an underdog or perhaps vulnerable could resonant with MJ’s victories.

Finally there are definitely some readers who appreciate these examples because they are just plain refreshing.

And of course some people might just like Mary Jane in general so seeing her shine in some capacity could do it for them.

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exhausted-joy · 5 years

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SUPER RICH KIDS [YANDERE!BTS] [03]

CHAPTER THREE.

SYNOPSIS: Every summer, the super rich (albeit troublesome) kids of South Korea get sent to a three month long correctional camp in the ancient city of Gyeongju. While you aren’t at all a delinquent, your parents decide to send you anyway, claiming you need to ‘get out more’ and 'live a fulfilling life’. Everything is going swell at first–that is, until you accidentally butt your head into something you aren’t supposed to. Things quickly loop into a downward spiral and instead of choosing the right answers on a mock exam, you find yourself bouncing between life and death. Is this what happens when you leave the safety of your bedroom? It doesn’t take long for you to realize that you never should have left.

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❞ super rich kids with nothing but loose ends ❞

"If you came here to make friends, then you will be thoroughly disappointed. Friends are a liability and only serve as an obstacle on the path to self-improvement, and your parents didn't waste all this money on you to go back home even more useless than when you arrived here. We strive for perfection and if you can't make the cut, then we won't feel bad weeding out the weaklings when you don't. But we'll make sure you do - it's guaranteed, after all."

That was what the founder of the Gyeongju Correctional Summer Camp herself told you and, well, everyone else when she stepped out from a balcony on the highest level of the facility when everyone was rounded up into their nice neat lines. She was dressed in all-white from head to toe and wore her hair in a regal updo that showed off her pale skin and sharp features. The aura that surrounded her suggested that she was indeed a powerful and influential figure in the facility, and the fact that she didn't even bother to speak to the masses at eye level made her seem all the more stuck-up and antagonistic.

It wasn't until her little PSA was over that the real fun began. The uniformed guards that stood in front of each line began to hand out schedules and dorm room numbers, all contained in a thick, laminated booklet (a lot like a passport). Yours had every single kind of identification that was related to you on it - including things that even you didn't know like your blood type, social security number, and a multitude of insurances you didn't know were plausible. There was also a barcode, which was to be used on the scanners for entering your room and any other recreational or educational area open to the students.

And speaking of dorm rooms, you are very uncomfortable in your own right now. Awkwardness stagnates the air in the room and tension hangs heavy as you and your roomate unpack your belongings. Your roommate is a pretty girl with short brown hair styled into a cute bob with choppy bangs that hang over her dark eyes. You learn that her name is Han Soha and she's a year younger than you at fourteen. And to no surprise, she's just as awkward as you - if not more - and her aloofness makes you feel insecure, as if she's silently judging you from afar.

You drop your phone onto the white comforter of your bed and sigh, relieved that it isn't sticking to your skin anymore. You will be forever thankful to Jimin because now you were able to use your phone, even though you technically weren't supposed to have it. Turns out they were confiscating phones and electronic devices at the entrance, and the outraged reaction from some ended up with them getting dragged away, probably never to be seen again. You were practically dripping with sweat when a guard had asked you if you had any electronics devices to hand over, and you almost collapsed when he told you step into a body scanner. Thank goodness you had decided wear a padded bra.

Shuddering, you imagined yourself getting dragged away like those boys, and your curiosity wanders to where they may have brought them to - though, you aren't quite sure you want to find out. However, you do want to see Jimin again, so maybe you might have to play detective to find any answers. You hope he isn't hurt or anything; you mean, how will you get your answers if he's become a cripple? From the way that guard had violently pulled at Jimin's arm, you wouldn't be surprised if he was in a cast the next time you see him.

Shaking those thoughts away, you fold your last t-shirt and neatly tuck it into its designated drawer before plopping down on your bed and occupying yourself with your phone. Soha finishes unpacking just a little while after you do, though most of her belongings just litter the floor haphazardly. She lays down on her bed with a loud huff and pulls her phone out from her pants pocket, instantly tapping away. The electronic clicks of her keyboard is the only sound that fills the silence, along with the occasional hum of the air conditioner kicking in. You glance at her once in a while, but her eyes seem to never leave her phone screen - not even when the huge metal wheel on the door begins to spin and the loud buzz of the scanner that pierces through it.

You quickly hide your phone beneath the sheets when the heavy door creaks inwards, the hinges squeaking with effort. A woman in uniform appears in the threshold, a hardened look on her face as she observes you and Soha, who has magically made her phone disappear in record time.

"Lunch time. Report to the canteen." The woman's clipped reply catches you off guard and you look to Soha, who seems unbothered and leisurely gets up to slip some shoes on. You follow her lead with a bit of hesitance, your muscles tense with discomfort as the guard's eyes scrutinize you with an unrelenting intensity. You shakily slide on some appropriate footwear and follow Soha out the door, the guard's gaze zeroed in on your form without a moment's wavering.

She leads the two of you out of your room, and you jump in fright when the woman's hand grasps your shoulder in an iron grip. Soha's eyelids droop with boredom as she completely disregards the grip the woman handles her with, while you almost have to suppress the urge to pull away and make a break for it.

You don't want to, but you can't help but notice how impeccably uniform everything is as you walk down the hallway. From the squeaky clean white marble of the floor, to the barren white walls lined with titanium, prison-like cell doors on each side, the feeling of confinement really beings to set in.

Everything passes by in a blur due to the pace the woman is dragging you at, and you don't have much time to let things soak in. The corridor stretches quite a length before you reach the end, which leads the three of you to an exit and then outside to a covered bridge with rails and window panes on each side, giving you a view of the large campus. Your room was located on the third floor of the girls' dormitory, which were apparently nicer since the rooms were recently remodeled and had less wear than the rooms on the first and second floor.

At the end of the walkway, you can make out a sign above two double doors that says 'cafeteria' in large, blocky text. You already hear the loud chatter of the other kids even through the closed doors and you suddenly begin to feel sick. Your anxiety takes over and the lonely elementary student in you begins to surface from the dark depths of your memories; where will you sit? Who will you sit by? You weren't used to not being constantly swarmed by people who found you interesting or wanted something from you because you had money. Since everyone else here is probably richer than you, you can't help but feel...normal, in a strange way. Like you belonged, somehow.

It's a feeling you didn't seem to mind, though.

The guard pushes open one of the double doors to reveal a sight to behold. A huge lounge-like lunch room filled to the brim with teens of all ages, all talking loudly and enjoying their meticulously arranged lunches. For a moment, it looked like a regular school cafeteria, and you almost thought that you were back at your own high school and ready to chow down with your less than real friends. That is, until you spot a section of the lunchroom that had been isolated with glass panels and house those same boys who had been dragged away from earlier. It reminds you that this is no ordinary lunchroom and thinking so might get you in trouble; you are new here and this is unknown territory.

The boys seem to be having lunch, but no one is talking as far as you can tell - you can only imagine the weight of the tension in that room, each 'gang' member all harboring some kind of ill intention towards one another. In fact, each one of them seem to be brooding and glaring at each other, ready to go for each other's necks if not for the guards watching their every move.

Before you are able to see if Jimin is in there, your own hovering demon whisks you away and towards the daunting lunch line. Relief floods every inch of your body when the woman releases her hold on you and Soha - it almost feels like you can finally breathe normally. She gives you one last glare before leaving you and Soha to go stand by one of the exits, the shadow of her hat hiding her face from view.

You turn to Soha, ready to offer her your word of complaint about how rude the woman was, but she shuts you down before you are even able open your mouth. What she says next almost shocks you into another century - admittedly, not something that you wouldn't have minded at the moment.

"Listen, I know you're new here and all, but I'm not looking to be your friend. Especially after what happened in the parking lot," she pauses and leans in closer, furrowing her eyebrows as her brown eyes darken. "So do me a favor and act like we don't know each other, okay?"

You flinch back in shock, a hurt look flashing across your face. Soha returns to looking normal, the same deadpan expression on her face from before settling seamlessly over her features. To say the least, you are quite offended at her drastic change in attitude compared to the way she had acted in your shared dorm room. While she wasn't exactly friendly and talkative, she didn't act as cold and hateful as she had just now. You stand frozen for a second, mouth agape and ready to retaliate before you shake your head and turn around to close the gap with the person in front of you.

Despite what the younger girl had spat at you, you couldn't be surprised. It's not like you could blame her - what had happened in the parking lot was freaky, and you were the main attraction. It was fine for people to avoid you as if you had hands for ears—it's not like you were interested in talking to anyone anyways! You would be fine on your own and things will get better when you find Jimin. Right..?

You awkwardly shift your weight from side to side as you wait in line for your meal, Soha's words still ringing through your mind. The smell of the food wafts throughout the lunch room, filling the air with the pleasant aroma of cheap meats and sauces, which would have sounded appetizing any other day and in any other place. Right now though, you weren't really feeling up to eating anything.

Luckily, you didn't have to wait long until you reached the serving counter as the line had shuffled along rather quickly. You weren't particularity used to eating school lunch, so you grabbed a tray, some silverware, and a couple of empty bowls before setting it down on the metal surface of the counter and hoping it was good enough. The people serving the food were dressed in extremely pristine, white clothing with plastic gloves and hairnets for, what you presume, food safety regulations. You realize that you don't really get a choice in what you want to eat as you see the person in front of you get a hefty helping of some kind of chunky, brown sewage (which also could have been some sort of beef stew, but you honestly couldn't tell the difference).

Sliding your tray along, the bowls that sat on it were gradually filled with different dishes, all of which didn't look very edible in your opinion. It's almost worse than the food at your own school, and your school's food was pretty bad considering the amount of money getting poured into it. You suddenly crash into the person in front of you, not even noticing that they had come to a stop, and you quickly mutter an apology when you recover from the contact. Furrowing your eyebrows, you hear a loud, obnoxious laugh from somewhere further down the line, and you peek over the person's larger frame to see what the commotion is.

A girl at the front of the line giggles at something one of the food servers says, a flirtatious smile stretched across her face as she nods her head vigorously to something he's saying. Observing the server, you notice that he doesn't have a face mask on like some of the other workers and is particularly handsome from where you stand. He's tall with a strong stature, broad shoulders, and clear skin coupled with warm, brown eyes. He gently smiles at the girl as he sets a plate of tiramisu onto her tray and, if reality weren't plausible, you'd probably be able to see the hearts appear in her eyes.

"Hey, what's the hold up?!" Some kids from the back of the line begin to voice their complaints, their feet tapping impatiently against the ground as they glare at the pretty boy flirting from behind the counter. She whips her head around to shoot them a sharp glare, her eyes glinting dangerously, which instantly shuts them up as if she had some sort of superiority over them.

Eventually, after another few long moments, the girl and the food server wrap up their flirting session, and the line moves along normally once again. The person in front of you is grumbling incoherently beneath their breath, their shoulders trembling with what you felt was some sort of brewing madness. You lag behind a bit, somewhat cautious that even being too close might set them off. Your plates continue to fill up with various half-edible looking dishes until you reach the end where dessert is being handed out. Sliding your tray along the last inches of metal, you reach for a plate of tiramisu. Except instead of making contact with the cool glass of the plate, your hand is engulfed by one much larger and warmer. You quickly retract your hand as if you had been burned, and look up to apologize to whoever's hand yours had touched.

And, of course, it's that handsome boy with the charming smile.

"Sorry but that one's been sitting out for a while. Take this one, dear," The pet name rolls smoothly, naturally, off his tongue, and you fight to keep the blush from arising. He bends over to slide another freshly made slice of tiramisu on your tray, shooting you a sly wink as he does so. You quietly thank him and quickly turn around to make your escape; away from him and the table of girls who glare at you hatefully from across the lunch room.

You look around for the nearest exit, hoping to find some sort of outside courtyard to eat in. Truthfully, you just wanted to get away from the bustle of people for a while, and it was the perfect time to be antisocial. You didn't want to be bothered at the moment and you were certain no one was planning on doing so based on what had happened in the parking lot and, more recently, with Soha. You firmly believe that you deserve some alone time - you won't be able to get that once you get back to your room, and you know it.

Your eagerly scouring eyes notice two large doors on the other side of the lunch room with a sign labeled 'courtyard' in an unmissable, clunky font. Feeling like you have hit the jackpot, you quickly begin to make your way over, making sure to stick to the walls to avoid any unnecessary staring. You feel as though every person you pass glances at you with an air of recognition before they begin to fiercely glare for a few seconds.

Hoping it's only your overactive imagination, you pick up the pace to a brisk walk before finally reaching your safe haven and pushing the doors open to reveal a large plot of grass dotted with clusters of trees.

On the right side, you are greeted with the sight of tables in the shade while on the left side is a multi-purpose ball court where a group of boys are playing a game of basketball. Slightly intrigued, you choose an empty table closest to the court to get a better view of the game while you uninterestedly pick and prod at your farmyard lunch.

You notice some of the boys have white bandanas tied around their necks. It's strange; you wonder why they aren't caged up with the other boys or being cautiously monitored like serial killers in padded rooms. Most of them seem to be a bit on the younger side, maybe around the ages of twelve or thirteen. You recognize a couple boys who are older, one with stark black hair and opaque blue ey—

CRASH!

As if in slow motion, you watch your whole lunch go flying halfway across the courtyard, chunks of beef stew and pickled radish soaring through the air like birds in the sky. Not long after, you see the carefully crafted plate of tiramisu topple over on its side, watching as its cold, gooey contents seep through the holes in the picnic table and pool conveniently into your lap like some sort of safety net. The basketball lands underneath the table, bounces from the impact for a few seconds before rolling down to bump into your foot, ceasing its motion.

...It's silent.

Everyone in the courtyard is staring at you. The group of girls who sit at another table stare pitifully, while another clique is holding in their mocking laughter. You want to scream. You want to just lie down in a ditch and just cry yourself a river. In fact, you can feel the breakdown welling up as you hang your head, catching sight of your food stained clothing through the unshed tears of shame. You don't even comprehend the shadow that engulfs your shuddering figure or the comforting touch that tenderly rubs your back as you hold in your angst.

"Shh, it's alright, *милая. It's okay, I'm here." The familiar voice draws your attention and you look up, only to come face to face with those same blue eyes that made everyone avoid you like the plague. You furrow your eyebrows and narrow your eyes resentfully, watching as he slowly sinks down on the bench next to you. The boy observes your ruined clothing for a moment with a thoughtful look before rolling the basketball from under the table the chucking it to his boys who all stand lost in the middle of the court.

"What're you lookin' at?!" He barks aggressively out into the open air, pure dominance radiating off of him in what seems to be waves. Quickly, everyone returns to normalcy, the game back in action as if nothing had happened. You watch the boy grab your wrist and then pull you to your feet, gently wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

You snatch your wrist away and recoil from his touch, still training your narrowed eyes at him in caution. He merely chuckles at your actions. "Come. Follow me." He gestures, a small smile adorning his lips which reveal a charming set of dimples carved in his amply chiseled cheeks. You feel conflicted, but all you want right now is to just get away. Internally shrugging, you decide that nothing can make this day worse than it already is, and you grab his outstretched hand to allow him to guide you to wherever.

You get a weird feeling about the boy. You get a weird feeling from the other kids, the guards, and practically everyone else in the facility, too. But you brush it all off, ignoring the deep sinking in your stomach that effectively riddles your mind with anxiety. Whatever was wrong with this place couldn't be kept secret forever. You assure yourself you'd find out sooner or later. Hopefully before it's too late.

But for now, you allow yourself to be dragged along, the food on your clothing now drying into a crust, and the tears in your eyes still threatening to spill.

You hope, with all your heart, that the three months go by very, very quickly.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

THOUGH, through your turmoil, you fail to spot Jimin's worried gaze, which watches with sorrow from the window in the max security lunch lounge as you are whisked away by the enemy. He knocks his knee with his leader's, grabbing his attention and jerking his head in the direction of the window.

The sight makes Jimin's superior's blood bubble with rage and envy. Usually a move was never made this quickly. So it's begun.

"You got a plan, JK?"

JK tilts his head, dark hair shifting to obscure a brown eye from view. An unnoticeable smirk appears on his otherwise emotionless face as he watches the two frolic through the courtyard and disappear behind a building on the other side. He doesn't answer the inquiry.

Instead, his smirk only grows wider and that, in itself, was answer enough for Jimin.

*милая = Russian word commonly translated to 'sweetheart'.

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#yandere x reader #yandere bts #yandere jimin #yandere taehyung #yandere suga #reader #bts #bts jimin #bts suga #anime #yandere bts x reader #bts x reader #bts x you #bangtan x reader

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bangchanshehe · 4 years

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The Boogeyman pt. 2

Summary: You were constantly having the same reoccurring dream over and over again and your friends told you that it meant nothing. But as your nights became more strange as days passed by you knew that it was more than a dream. much, much more. You tried every night to stop the bizarre dreams from occurring in the same sequence to try to find out more about who or what was controlling them. But when you came face to face with the demon in your dreams in real life, you realized that what he had been telling you all along was true. There is no escape.

??? X Reader

Word Count: 3k

The rest of your morning passed as usual. You made your coffee at 6:30 am sharp, you did your hair and makeup and got dressed and made your way to work. The only difference between your morning and other people’s mornings is that you had only slept for 6 hours. You sighed to yourself once you were parked in the work garage and checked your reflection in the rear view mirror.

Fucking eye bags. You cursed under your breath.

You could tell that physically the lack of sleep was starting to get to you. You no longer had naturally dewy, well rested skin. Your eye bags had grown exponentially, and your mood. Most of all… your mood had taken a turn for the worse.

In your precinct you were always known as the most serious investigator, but lately a few co-workers had added some extra vocabulary to your name. detective “bitch-face”, was your favorite as of yet. You gathered up your bag, threw your keys and phone inside and held onto your coffee cup with a death grip as you prepared yourself for another day of mind-numbing work.

You had barely clocked in and sat your things down at your desk when your boss called you into his office. You rolled your eyes and mentally shifted into your role as a well mannered subordinate, before you stalked off to his office. You knocked twice on his glass door before welcoming yourself in.

“you wanted to see me?” you asked him with a straight face although you knew what he was calling you into his office for

“yes, take a seat y/n” he commanded in an authoritative tone

You obliged him and tried to make yourself comfortable in the stiff chairs.

“I know that you are having some trouble in dealing with the suicide cases y/n.” he started and you let out a sigh “I think that we need to put this case to rest not only for our sake but also for the family’s sakes” he leaned forward at his desk and spoke softer to you “simply put there is nothing further to investigate, and there is no sign of foul play in either of these women’s cases.”

You knew that the correct and polite thing to do would be to agree with your boss, but you had a hunch that you couldn’t get rid of. And you knew that if it was you in those women’s shoes, that you would want for someone to try their best for you.

“all do respect sir, ill have to disagree” you started “I’ve spoken to the families and neither of them mention mental illness or indication of suicide. Their work life, social life and financial stability was solid. There was no reason for those women to have motivation to take their own life. I’ve already –“

“let me stop you right there” your boss interrupted you mid-sentence. “we don’t know for sure that these women weren’t suffering from any mental illness. We cant say that they didn’t commit suicide just because they were perfect on paper.” He shook his head in disagreement

“sir, I’ve spoken with the medical examiner and they say that there is no sign of natural death….” You gave him a stern look and he gave you one back “these women essentially just dropped dead. Nothing in their system, nothing wrong with their health. It doesn’t make any sense!”

“I want you to dismiss the case.” He said firmly

“if either of these women were your daughter or wife, would you want someone else to just dismiss the case sir?” you asked him

He paused for a long while giving you a pointed glare before finally looking down at his desk and back up at you again. “y/n, I am going to give you one more week to work on this case. Either you bring me more evidence that this was a homicide by that time, or we dismiss the case. Is that understood?” he asked you

“yes sir! I appreciate it sir!” you said with a small smile, happy that you had talked him into giving you some more time.

You walked out of his office with more motivation than ever to help these women and their families. You made your way back to your desk, unpacked your files and looked back over their cases, starting with the basics.

Looking over the autopsy results the women seemed to be perfectly healthy beings with nothing in their system other than an sleeping aid.

You didn’t find that the fact that they might need help with falling asleep strange, but if you were going to produce results by the end of the week you had to cross all of your t’s and dot all of your I’s. starting with a call to a medical examiner.

You picked up the phone and dialed the examiner less than hopeful to find anything of significance but unwilling for the case to be dropped without finding any further answers.

“hello, this is examiner song speaking. How can I help you?” a friendly and familiar voice answered

“Hi, Mr. Song this is detective Y/N speaking. I have a few questions for you in regards to the double suicide case. Are you free right now?” you asked him as friendly as possible hoping it would gain you the favor

“oh! Sure ask away!” he said as chipper as ever

“I see from the report that both of the women were both using a sleeping aid and I was wondering if the dose that they had in their system was typical and if you had any other information on this medication?”

He hummed for a moment “the amount still left in the blood stream was pretty typical for a sleep medication, particularly if they had taken it that night. There doesn’t seem to be any signs of drug abuse or abnormalities. However, I don’t know too much about the medication other than its prescription and you have to have some serious sleep insomnia to get prescribed it.” he mentioned

You quickly scribbled down the name of the drug on a piece of paper and thanked the examiner before you hung up the phone. Looking back over the files for the women you quickly look up their family physician’s number only to find that the women both go to the same doctor.

You wrote the number down underneath the name of the medication and stuck in on your computer monitor. You highly doubted that it was a strong lead to pursue since doctor song said the levels look normal and decided to save it for later.

You restlessly looked over your notes and files calling anyone who you think would have any additional information on the women, before you finally noticed that it was close to 11.

You pulled out your phone and text your best friend who was a practicing therapist in your area. You had met her because of work and ever since then you were glued to each other. You smiled to yourself remembering how comfortable it was for the two of you when you had first met. It was like you had just met your best friend who you hadn’t seen for a while and had a ton to catch up on.

The entire reason that you were there to begin with was because you were injured on the job and was told to go as a part of probation until you were “better again”, which was short for do your required 3 appointments for an hour and you’ll be cleared to be back on the force again. But the two of you were so close that you met often after your standard three meetings. Only this time you often met at a bar, after business hours for the both of you.

Hey, want to get Mexican food for lunch around 12? You sent here knowing that she was done with her standard 10-11 appointment. You had looked away for only a moment before you had heard your phone vibrate.

ABSOLUTELY! I have the craziest story to tell you when I get there! Get ready!

You laughed quietly at her text. She always had some crazy story to tell you about her clients. Was it technically legal for her to do so? No, not really. But she was at least responsible to change the names and places in her stories so that at least identities were protected. Plus, since she worked strictly with more upscale clientele, she heard a lot of stories about wild affairs, extravagant parties and occasionally a celebrity gone bad.

You locked your phone and put it down on your desk hoping that within the next 45 minutes you’ll be on a better track then you currently were.

“so you would never believe what happened today!” your friend started off excitedly from across the table, drink in hand “my typical 10 o’clock canceled on me today… whatever, no big deal. But come 9:50ish I get this message from the receptionist that a certain very attractive celebrity wanted to book a same day appointment with me if at all possible. So I’m all ‘hell yeah! Get his ass in here!’ and when he came into my room he told me this story about how he drunkenly married a woman from a foreign country, spent the next three amazing weeks with her in paradise and now she’s gone and he’s completely torn apart from it” she said like it was the wildest news she had ever heard

You stared at her from across the table wondering where she was going to go with her story. Unamused or impressed with what she was telling you

“and I mean like full blown ugly crying in my office over this girl. He pulled out his phone and showed me a picture after picture of her proclaiming that she was the most attractive woman he’d ever met. And eventually at the very end he said that he had received a message from her saying that she was pregnant with another man’s child and wanted to be with him to raise the baby” she stopped to take a breath “I mean the poor guy was really losing his marbles over this chick. But as he’s walking out of the building I literally see him eye fucking some chick and then without a word she just gets into his car and they drive off together to do god knows what!” she finally finished

You raised your eyebrows at her and gave her a look of disbelief. You wouldn’t have believed your ears if it weren’t for the fact that you had some of your own run ins with celebrities or word of celebrities in her office.

“that’s so crazy!” you said confused over such behavior. “hey I have a question for you about a medication and I have no clue if you’ll actually know anything about it.” you said pulling out your sticky note with the name scribbled across the top

She leaned over to look at the name and immediately perked up. “oh yeah I prescribe that pretty often to patients who need help sleeping.” She said before looking up to you “why? Are you looking into a new sleep medication?”

You sighed and put the note away. “well I found it through a case and had never heard of it, so I figured I’d ask. Is it any good?” you asked her

She scoffed and giggled “it’s the best thing that anyone has invented since bread.” She said “fuck all of the older sleep medications. This one is the best. Plus… there’s a little more that goes into it than just getting the drug from a store. You take a questionnaire and they give you an at home test so they can create it to be designed more for what you need.”

Your eyes went wide and you sat back in your chair happy to hear about how good the medicine was. Whatever the price was you would be willing to pay for a decent night’s sleep again.

You pulled out your phone and googled the drug, and scheduling was much simpler than you thought, you made an appointment for 5:30 so you could go straight after work.

“thank you my sweet, sweet friend. I’ll see you later!” you said with a smile on your face shoving one last tortilla chip in your face before you ran to your car so you could get back to the office on time.

The rest of the shift went by terribly slow and you were actually itching to get out of your chair come five o’clock. You had done literally everything that you could have to cover your basics with the case but everything seemed to run into a dead end.

You quickly packed up your belongings and raced out the door so you wouldn’t be late for your appointment. You were as giddy as a school girl to find something that might finally help you feel like a normal human being again. and as soon as you pulled up to the offices for the drug you smiled.

Utopia Inc. you read to yourself, before getting out of the car and walking towards the doors.

Once inside you were impressed with how comfortable and yet clean the offices were. You took a seat in a chair and began reading over the paperwork and questionnaire.

Are you getting more than 5 hours of rest? No.

Do you have trouble falling asleep? No.

Do you have trouble staying asleep? Yes.

On a scale of one to ten how would you rate your average nights rest? 4

Are you currently using any other sleep-inducing medications? No.

What is the average time that you sleep in one night? 4-5 hours

You sighed as you looked over the remaining questions. You couldn’t even remember the last time that you had a decent nights sleep and you were more than anxious to have that back. But the questions were a little dull. You were hoping that the questions would be a little more in depth than the traditional sleep surveys you’ve done in the past.

As you filled out the remaining few questions your name was called by a nurse and you quickly stood and approached her.

“please come this way miss Y/l/n” She said opening a door and walking down a long hallway full of doors. She stopped in front of a office and held the door open for you “ go ahead and have a seat, and the doctor will be ready in just a moment”

You thanked her and took a seat in the stiff looking chair. You read the posters on the walls and looked around the room while you waited, bored and nervous all at once.

Knock, knock.

Your head snapped up and a friendly looking man walked into the room. He peaked his head into the room and gave you a warm smile before introducing himself.

“hi y/n! my name is Jongho and ill be taking care of your sleep test and diagnosis.” He held out his hand for you to shake and you accepted with a smile “I already looked over your questionnaire and it looks like you have some symptoms of severe sleep insomnia” he explained

“which I have some good news and some bad news with that. Unfortunately there is no cure for sleep insomnia, however after we run some sleep tests on you we can get an idea of what kind of medicine you need to regulate your sleeping patterns” he explained to you very calmly and coolly.

Knock, knock.

The two of you turned your head to see who the new intruder was in the room and you were surprised when you saw a very attractive man walk into the room with a bright smile. Jongho was surprised as well by the new guest in the room and looked back over to you with a smile only to give the man a curious glare.

“hello my name is Hongjoong!” the man said extending his hand “ill be assisting doctor choi”

“y/n” you said taking his hand

You couldn’t help but notice the strange way that the physician looked to the man before he looked back at you with an awkward smile. For some reason it made you feel unsettled

“right, so all you have to do is turn on this device and put it on your finger as you sleep for the next week and it will record all of the information that we need. From there once we look at the reports we will form a diagnosis and get you the perfect medication to help you out. Re-testing can occur at any time if you feel that the diagnosis was incorrect and you need a different medication. Any questions?” he asked you with a smile

You shook your head and jongho smiled back at you. He gave you a bag with the necessary equipment and a packet with questions and answers on insomnia. He scheduled an appointment for a week from now and you were completely ready to go home. He shook your hand one last time before you left the office and on your way out Hongjoong stopped you.

He handed you a business card and you accepted it. it was simple with his name, email and phone number on the card. “please don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any questions or difficulty during the tests”

You looked him over once more noticing how differently he was dressed compared to doctor Choi who was in a white medical gown and business casual clothes. He was wearing a suit that looked like it cost a fortune and he had the air around him like he was a man who didn’t work with people all day long. he seemed impatient, guarded and utterly too perfect.

you smiled at him once before leaving the long hallway and entering the reception area once more. happy like a child on Christmas you carried the box to your car and set it down carefully in the passenger seat as if it were a precious treasure. You looked back up at the building one last time before you pulled away and smiled. Hopefully this would be the answers to your prayers and help you start a happier and healthier chapter in your life.

#kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop seires #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop boogeyman #boogeyman series #boogeyman au #kpop idol #kpop au

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mentalmimosa · 5 years

Text

must have been magic

Prompt: Love spell

Everything’s fine until Steve starts taking off his clothes.

Ok, everything’s not fine, technically: Tony’s hoarse from yelling and Steve is the color of beets and anyone in the vicinity who didn’t know they were pissed at each other, have been since the Quinjet swept in and plucked them out of the Albanian wilderness, well--let’s just say there’s not anyone like that left.

They’re in the briefing room near the hanger because Tony was trying to act like a professional and not ream Steve the second they stepped off the plane. They’ve got new kids on the block now, Ant Man and Spidey and that take-no-shit Wasp, so it would be nice to, you know, pretend like they have their shit together as a team. As far as Tony’s concerned, screaming at Steve (and vice versa) is what keeps said shit in one piece; they’ve tried the not talking and not communicating thing and boy howdy, did that fuck them up. So they talk about their disagreements now, albeit in raised voices (Steve) and flailing arms (Tony), but they try not to do it in mixed company. Key word: try.

But sometimes Steve is just too puritanical for Tony to stomach all the way back to base, so today’s contretemps had started in furious whispers at the back of the plane and smouldered until they were wheels down and then and only then had Tony poked Captain Self-Righteous in the chest and hissed: “You, me, briefing room. Right the fuck now!”

Which had only made Steve madder, of course.

“I don’t appreciate being ordered around, Tony,” he barks the second the door to the briefing room closes.

“Yeah. Sucks, don’t it? Maybe you should have thought of that before you pulled an audible in the middle of an op, Cap!”

“What we were doing wasn’t working! A new strategy was called for!”

“I’m sorry, who was on point today?”

Steve flips off his helmet and chucks it on the table. “You were.”

“Yep. So instead of calling for the ball yourself, Namath, maybe you should have, oh, I don’t know, given me a heads up and made a recommendation?”

“Recommendation? Get real, Tony. When’s the last time you listened to one of those?” Steve snorts and unbuckles his harness, shrugged out of his shield. “Correction, when’s the last time you didn’t take great delight in ignoring one, huh?”

“I see, so you’re a mindreader now, is that it?”

“No, you’re just goddamn predictable, that’s all.”

“I’m predictable? You’re the one who’s always preaching teamwork and collaboration, and yet the second a thing doesn’t go the way you want it, you reach right over and grab the stick!”

Steve reaches for the catch in his armor. “Teamwork goes both ways, you know. Sometimes teamwork means recognizing that I know better.”

“That you--!”

There were more words coming, more that Tony had lined up to follow, but it’s hard to talk suddenly, what with the armor falling and Steve peeling and then him standing there not three feet from Tony no longer wearing a, uh. A shirt.

It’s not like Tony’s never seen the All-American six pack before, even once or twice in close quarters, but usually there were knives involved or evildoers of some sort, so he’d never had a chance to study Le Rogers without the fear of rapidly approaching death and holy god, he thought, goggled, that was probably good. Because for all his pig-headedness, for all of his incredible ability to rub Tony the wrong way, Steve’s gorgeous in the way that the sun is bright, you know? Fundamentally, thoroughly, blindingly. Throw in the helmet-mussed hair and the red cheeks of indignation and the whole package gets Tony thinking in the color of swoon.

And then the man starts futzing with his pants.

“Um,” Tony says weakly. “Cap? What the hell are you doing?”

Steve looks up at him, wide-eyed, and now that his pissiness had taken a backseat, Tony could see what he hadn’t before: there was a weird fire in Steve’s eyes, some shit that made the blue blue, and what had looked like pink cheeks was actually general aura of flush from Steve’s hairline over the hills and valleys of his chest down to the line of his--

“I’m hot,” Steve says petulantly as he--yep, oh god, yep--peels the suit from his legs and unfastens his boots. “Always get hot when we argue, Tony.”

Ok, that’s a sentence to unpack another day. A day when Tony’s not standing across from Steve Rogers wearing nothing but a very (very) tight pair of shorts. Shit.

“Sure,” he says, aiming for something blase, “but you don’t usually lose your kit because of it.”

“Oh, but I do. After it’s over, though. I go back to my quarters and strip off and get a hand on myself.” A long-lashed flutter. "Think about you.”

If Tony was a good man, a noble one like the blond stalwart in front of him, he’d leave right then. Splutter something, wave his arms a bit, and run off for the hills.

But he’s not noble and he’s not good, so far as Steve Rogers is concerned. He’s always wanted. Always, from day, nay hour one. He’s never let himself follow that particular thought any farther than his right hand and a very long, hot shower. They’re teammates, he and Cap. On a good day, they’re friends.

All the more reason he should be calling for a doc, a detox, something, but clearly Steve is straight up out of his mind: hoodoo’d or whammied or drunk or shellshocked or catastrophically high--but also hard, jesus fuck, is he. Hard and moving towards him, reaching for him, purring in this beautiful, uber un-Rogers way.

“I’m so hot,” he says again. This time the words fall over Tony’s face. “Feel like I’m burning up, Tone. Need your hands on me. See?”

And then he’s tugging at Tony’s wrists and planting Tony’s palms on his hip and his chest and Tony is weak, Tony is greedy, Tony suddenly wants him so bad .

If he was a good man, the kind they make star-spangled movies about, he wouldn’t turn his face to meet Steve’s. He wouldn’t open his mouth. He wouldn’t stroke every inch of skin he could reach and lap up Steve’s orchestra of needy sounds. He wouldn’t moan when Steve’s hands catch his ass and squeeze just this side of too hard.

“Yeah?” Steve whispers against his lips. “You’re hot too, aren’t you?”

The air feels like it’s imploding, each drop of oxygen its own pool of heat, and Tony’s drowning in each and every one. “Oh, fuck.”

“Mmmm. Please.”

Later, what happens next will be a flurry, a cross-cut set of Polaroids that if he thinks about, Tony can’t actually fathom:

His knees on the floor, the smell of Steve’s body, the sound he makes as Tony peels down those impossible briefs;

Steve’s back against the table, his breathing wet and ragged, his hands buried in Tony’s hair;

His palms slipping on slick wood, his forehead pressed to it, the feel of Steve’s tongue in his ass.

And the strongest of them all, the fiercest: Steve’s mouth on his shoulder, his chest ablaze at Tony’s back, the gorgeous, hungry hitch of his hips. His hand is on Tony’s cock and Tony’s clinging to the edge of the table and it feels so good to have Steve inside him he wants to fucking scream.

And then he does, because to hell with reason, and he’s coming all over Steve’s fingers, the table, pulse after pulse and he still feels incomplete and then Steve is grunting in his ear, fucking in hard and hard and deep and only when Steve whimpers and lets it all go does the sweet tension in Tony’s body finally release.

It feels like he comes again, another burst of white out on the table, but that can’t be, right? He can’t. It must be the hoodoo, whatever’s infecting Steve--he must have caught some of it, too. But hell, god bless the magic, because it feels so fucking good.

“Oh, god,” Steve moans in his ear, because the bastard’s still coming, apparently. “Oh, fuck, Tony, yes, yes.”

And maybe that does it for him a little, again, too.

The next thing he knows, they’re in a wet heap on the floor, half on top of Tony’s hastily-removed clothes. They’re clinging to each other. It’s a different kind of hot.

“So,” he says when he can speak again, when he wants to, “um, Cap. What the hell was that?”

Steve laughs in his ear, a noise like good whiskey. “If I have to tell you, I must have done something wrong.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be a smart ass. You went all weird stripper Barbie on me!”

“Stripper Barbie--?”

“Were you whammied or something? Did you pick a funny-looking flower while we were out there? That’s some serious Fairy Tale country out that way, you know. Lots of the big myths and stuff got started out there.”

Steve’s arms go tighter. “You’re babbling.”

“I’m not babbling, Rogers, I’m deducting. Er, I’m trying to figure this out.”

“What is the this, again?”

“Steve, you threw yourself at me. I touch myself when I think about you? I mean, that was some pure Skinemax shit.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

God, he’s infuriating. But it’s a lot harder to be mad when he’s naked. “Um, I always get hot when we argue, Tony? That isn’t you.”

“Hmmm. So you thought I was under the influence of something?”

Yeah, like a love spell, you know. I thought maybe you ate an enchanted mushroom. Forgot to each lunch before the smashy smashy and so picked a vegan snack on the go, you know.”

Steve bites at his throat, very gently. Laps at it a little. Says: “You thought I was high on magic and/or a mushroom and you had sex with me anyway?”

Shit shit shit. “Um, yeah. Yeah, I did.” Tony’s head does a double take. “Wait. Does that mean you weren’t ?”

“Mmmmm.” Tony can practically feel the smug. “No. Believe it or not, that was all me.”

“Well, all you is very cheesy, Rogers. Also not fucking subtle at all.”

Steve’s hips rock against his ass. “I wasn’t feeling subtle,” he growls. “Sometimes I hate subtle. Sometimes I think the only thing you understand is a shield upside the head--and believe me, I’ve been tempted.”

“So you thought you’d whip your dick out in the middle of an argument and I’d just, what, fall to my knees?”

“Isn’t that what happened?” Steve chuckles. “Except, as I recall, you’re the one who actually whipped it out.”

“But--” Tony’s brain is still not in full gear; not helping that blood’s rushing back merrily towards his dick. “But I--I don’t know if you noticed, Ron Jeremy, but there were some things happening with me that haven’t happened since I was 15.”

Steve sighs, a full on-luxury sound that Tony would like to sink into, thanks. “Oh, hell. Did I make you come more than once, Tone? It felt like it, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Apparently.”

“Uh huh. So let me get this straight: you came so hard on my cock that it must have been magic, is that it?”

“I hate you.”

“You want me.” Long fingers tumble over his hip, tease. “You’d take me again right now, if I wanted.”

Not even a question. “Hell yes.”

“Here, on the floor. Desperate, like a couple of kids whose parents aren't home."

“You like the idea of sneaking around, Cap? And here I took you for the candlelight and silk sheets type.”

“I like that too. But you have no idea how many times I’ve been stuck in one of your damn briefings and spent the whole time daydreaming about what it would be like to shut you up with my tongue.”

“Or your cock.”

A growl, a fist around Tony’s dick. “Yeah. That, too.”

Tony’s head falls back. “So next time you’re in here, tired of listening to me talk, you can think about this instead. About dirting me up and then tossing me on the carpet and having your way with me again.”

“My way with you? Now who’s cheesy?”

“Steve.”

“Yes, Tony?”

“Shut up and fuck me again."

#stony #love spell #mildest dub con #sort of

57 notes · View notes

writingpaperghost · 2 years

Text

There is a Me Who Can Become Strong (Chapter 40)

Chapter 40: Droplets of Water

As things often do, they get worse.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32857183/chapters/88005394

Since the moment he’d come back, Kiriya had known that there was something wrong with Emu – no, Parad, that was his name, an important distinction with the real Emu Hojo still alive. While maybe not strange to see him standing behind Masamune, smiling, it was strange to see him in his real appearance and not disguised as Emu. Not to mention what appeared to be Graphite beside him, although he was red this time.

One moment, Kiriya had been dying, held by Parad and shoving his Gamer Driver and Gashat into his hands. He’d been killed by his own idiocy in challenging Gemn who had a new Gashat, and he had been killed by “Mu”. Or rather, the real Emu. Both Emu and Parad had a terrified look in their eyes. Emu’s had appeared when Kiriya claimed to know who he was, Parad’s had appeared when he saw the state Kiriya was in. In that moment, Kiriya could have told Parad who Mu really was, but there was no point. He didn’t want the last thing he said to have been a lie. Instead, he simply said something that was technically true, placing the blame where he could. “Gemn,” He had told Parad. Had imparted the wish that he knew both Parad and Emu would need to make it through all this, “Ace, take your fate into your own hands.”

The next moment, Kiriya was here, what looked like Gemn Corp, faced with Masamune, with Parad and Graphite behind him. A far cry from the previous state of death he’d remember being in before. Still, he had this feeling that something was wrong, a gut instinct. Although, maybe that was because he wasn’t dead anymore and… things felt a bit strange. Not quite right, with him physically, but then again, he had died. So what was he now? A ghost?

“Bakusou Bike,” Masamune speaks, and Kiriya immediately notes the choice of name. While he was obviously talking to Kiriya, it was a strange choice to choose to call him by the Gashat he used, and a new choice. Kiriya can’t help but wonder what happened while he’d been… dead. “Welcome back.”

Kiriya takes a moment to look around, more for show than practicality – he’d been looking around this whole time, “Well, I’m certainly back. Somehow.”

Thankfully, Masamune explains, at least why he was back, “When you died, your data was sent to the Prototype Bakusou Bike Gashat,” Did that mean that the data of everyone who died to Game Disease went to a Proto Gashat too? Or just if someone died after using a Gashat? “I was able to bring you back, although as a Bugster.”

So Kiriya was a Bugster now? That was… a thought. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. “Okay, cool,” Kiriya comments, “And what about those two?” He gestures to Parad and Graphite.

At being acknowledged, Parad’s smile only grew, “I’m so glad you’re back, Kiriya! It was getting pretty lonely ever since Emu took Poppy away, especially since it’s just me and Graphite now…” There was a bit to unpack there. What did Parad mean by ‘since Emu took Poppy away’, for example? Or what he meant by it just being him and Graphite now?

Masamune’s lips twitch into a slight frown, “Perfect Knockout,” He says, in a stern tone. Again, with the strange names.

Parad blinks, then pouts a little, “Sorry,”

“I… think I’m missing a few things,” Kiriya said, already trying to make sense of just what was going on. With what limited information he had, it was far from easy to try to fill in the blanks. At the very least, it seemed Parad knew that Emu was alive, which meant he most likely knew he was Mu.

“To be expected,” Masamune responded, returning his attention to Kiriya, “You see, Bakusou Bike, we are currently in the midst of the ultimate game. With I as the Game Master, humans and Bugsters will exist in peace with each other. But we’ve been met with some… resistance.”

So Masamune’s a bit crazy, it seemed. Who the hell else would be going on about being the ‘Game Master’? Yeah, no, he’s definitely crazy, and either hid it well, or went off his rocker sometime between Kiriya dying and now. Still, Kiriya figured Masamune had a reason for bringing him back, so he might as well play along. “Resistance?” Kiriya suspected he had an idea or two about who may be involved in said ‘resistance’.

“My former assistant, the one who killed you, turned out to be Patient Zero of Game Disease, and he has managed to convince Kuroto, Doctor Momose, Saiba, and Hanaya to aid him in trying to prevent the paradise I wish to create. Then, he forced the Bugster you may know as Poppy Pipopapo to join them.” Well, it seemed that Masamune was at least pretending not to be crazy. Though it did surprise Kiriya that Saki, Nico, and Taiga were willing to work with Kuroto, but maybe there was something more there he was missing, too. “I’d like to ask for your assistance in… dealing with them.”

Technically, Kiriya had every ability to tell Masamune no. But given the situation, that sounded like a horrendous idea, especially since he didn’t have access to his Gashat or anything. Get on Masamune’s bad side and things could get ugly pretty quickly. So, Kiriya figured, what’s wrong with a little more lying? “Yeah sure, why not?” He shrugged, “’Sides, Ace is here, may as well stick with him.”

Which was how Kiriya found himself here, leaning against a wall and wondering just how the hell things got… like this. It was one thing, for Saki to suffer through Masamune’s so-called “punishments”, and Emu through those terrible experiments, but now… Masamune had burned Saki – no, branded her. And there was something about Emu’s reaction that told Kiriya that wasn’t a new thing.

Which painted a very bad picture about the six years Emu and Kuroto had spent with Masamune. Of course, Kiriya had held an inkling for a while, especially seeing how Emu reacted when he was forced to come back here. Even the resignation seemed so telling. Even more so what Emu had said to Kiriya, that day. The way he explained the seeming hierarchy, placing himself at the bottom. It didn’t seem like it was wrong, either.

While it didn’t exactly seem like Masamune viewed Emu as expendable, not yet, at least. Saki might have had even less importance. Either way, it was clear that Masamune wasn’t afraid of hurting or injuring people to get what he wanted from them. Kiriya thinks of Emu’s eyes, the mismatched pink and red, ones that seemed to only ever be afraid, sad, or resigned, now.

It wasn’t that Kiriya liked that they were here, he didn’t, not in the slightest. But he knew that Masamune would probably have done worse to Saki, if Emu hadn’t come back. Yet now… Kiriya was starting to think that he should have let Emu and Graphite escape. Make sure Emu knew the truth and let them get back to the CR. Say something about not being able to stop Level 99 (that was Kiriya’s handywork, in a way, the thing he’d been working on before. He’s glad it’s found its way to being useful, though he’s curious how anyone got a hold of that. Nishi must have held on to his stuff).

After all, that punishment for Saki was worse than he’d expected, but it wasn’t just that. It seemed like the last experiment was worse than before, Emu was more out of it than normal. Kiriya was worried for them.

As it was, there was nothing he could do about it, but he was already trying to think of a way to get them to safety. He didn’t want to reveal his lie to Masamune just yet, so that ended up severely limiting his options. Still, those two couldn’t stay here, it was too dangerous. They had to find a way to get away, and Kiriya knew they’d probably need his help to do so. The question was, how?

“Kiriya!” Came Parad’s sing-song voice. Looking over, Kiriya sees Parad teleporting in front of him. “I forgot to tell you good job, the other day, for bringing Emu back.”

Kiriya just shrugged, “Eh, no big deal.” Even if he was starting to regret convincing Emu to come back.

That strange smile didn’t leave Parad’s face, “Still, I know he can be a handful, but he’s just having a hard time understanding,” There’s something that might count as a sad look on Parad’s face, if you squinted and stretched your definition of sad. “But he’ll come around I promise. And when he does, you’ll like him, really. He’s nice and likes games and he’s the reason I became…” There’s a moment there, where Kiriya thinks he can see a glimmer of the real Parad, right before he trailed off. Now he has an almost blank expression. Then he blinks. Once, twice. Three, four times, before his face scrunches up, before asking, sounding a little dazed, “…What was… what was I talking about…?”

Carefully, Kiriya reminds him, “Emu,”

Parad’s face lights up, “Oh, yeah. Seriously, though, once he sees that Masamune is just trying to help everyone, he’ll come around. And you’ll like him. He’s just a bit… confused, right now. He’ll see, sooner or later.”

Kiriya really doubted that. But then again, this wasn’t really Parad, no this was just the thing that Masamune turned him into. Kiriya wondered how much of it Parad would end up remembering, if and when Emu managed to reprogram him back to normal. In a way, Kiriya hoped Parad didn’t remember any of it, because otherwise, he’d be stuck with a lot more guilt. Parad didn’t deserve that.

If Parad noticed how hard Kiriya was thinking, he didn’t show it, instead turning his attention towards the door across from them, “Anyway, Masamune sent me to get Brave.”

“What for?” He was pretty sure she was still suffering from that… burn, the other day.

“You, me, and Brave are gonna go and bug the CR some,” Parad responded almost gleefully, “Maybe we’ll finally show them there’s no point in fighting.”

Well fuck. Saki was not going to have a good time, not with her shoulder still injured like that. Kiriya would just have to try to take the brunt of it off of her.

---

Click-click-click-click

The only sound in the CR when Taiga entered was that of Kuroto’s keyboard. That was all Kuroto ever really did, now. Work, supposedly on a Gashat to counter Cronus’ Pause. The only time he seemed to do anything else was when they were called to fight a Bugster. It was worrisome, but not surprising. Kuroto was taking Emu being kidnapped by Masamune badly, he was worried about Emu.

They were all worried about Emu, but Kuroto was the angriest about it. It could easily be seen with how aggressively he fought Parad, though Parad’s constant taunts surely didn’t help. Such reckless fighting on Kuroto’s part had already cost him several continues, and Taiga wouldn’t be surprised if that trend continued.

Graphite’s in the corner, looking sour and annoyed. The expression on his face has been a permanent frown since his encounter with Emu and Kiriya on the beach. His dour mood is also no surprise, all things considered.

Taiga wouldn’t lie and say that they had any clue what to do about all of this. About Emu’s kidnapping and Saki betrayal (why would she do that? Why would she fight them? Why would Emu go back, what could worry him so much about what would happen to her?), there was just… no easy solution. None of them knew what to do. Save Emu, obviously, and Saki if she needed it, but… how could they do that?

No good answer, not in the slightest. No good answer, no decent solution. Nothing they could really do. It was disheartening, but Taiga refused to focus too hard on that. He managed to pick himself up after losing his license, he could do this. He’d make sure that they figured something out.

Nico and Poppy were taking it all in… varying ways. For Nico, she acted like she wasn’t bothered, by Emu’s kidnapping, by Saki’s betrayal, and by Kiriya’s betrayal too. But just like the attempt at appearing unbothered by Kiriya’s death, something that Taiga had known, even then, wasn’t true, Nico could only hide her worry so much. Even her reaction to the telephone game of Kiriya’s whispered words to Emu weren’t as hidden as she probably thought it had been.

She wasn’t quite the same teenager who he’d tracked down those months ago. In some ways, that was probably a good thing. Before she didn’t care much about those who were infected with Game Disease, she’d just wanted her rematch against Parad, and then all those things that she and Kiriya poked into. Then it became more about defeating the Bugster, and the first time he thinks she really cared about the patient was when it had been Yuko. And now, he’d argue that’s she’s becoming… well he’s not sure, but she’s at least more concerned about those infected, and he knows she’s tried to do her best to help Emu adjust to everything.

Yet at the same time, to get to that point, she was forced to see Kiriya, her friend, die. To see him come back and work with their enemy, and for Saki to betray them. For Parad to willingly walk into a fight he must have known he couldn’t win, and die. For Parad to come back as her enemy against his will, and to have to aid the person who had killed him, to work with the one who had killed Kiriya with Kuroto. She’s been faced with all this death and danger that Chronicle brought, something that Taiga desperately wished she’d never had to experience. He wished she’d have given the Gamer Driver and Gashats to him after she was satisfied with her rematch.

It wasn’t that she was a bad Kamen Rider, it was simply that she was a teenager, she had a lot ahead of her, whether it was continuing her career as a gamer or something else. She shouldn’t be in all this danger, shouldn’t be risking her life. At least Taiga doesn’t have anything left to lose.

Unlike Nico, who attempted to hide her worry, Poppy, even in her Asuna persona, was far more transparent with her feelings. She was worried about Emu and confused why Saki would betray them. Taiga recalled her sullen expression when she had sighed and commented about how she’d have to inform Director Hinata. Because that’s the sort of development he should know about, especially since Saki was a part of the CR.

This decision, whatever the reason behind it, would surely have consequences for Saki, both Taiga and Asuna knew that. And that was why Asuna hadn’t really wanted to inform the Ministry. Because neither of them really wanted to admit that Saki could have simply betrayed them. They wanted some other reason, something more than just a change of heart or something. Saki wouldn’t just join Masamune, after all. Saki wouldn’t betray them without at least some kind of reason. Right?

Not that it mattered. There were only a few people who knew the truth, and as it was, they weren’t telling. But maybe, soon, they could hopefully learn. At least, that’s what Taiga distantly let himself hope.

---

The call they got about a Bugster attack turned out to be Parad, Saki, and Kiriya. Nico, Graphite, and Kuroto find themselves fighting Parad and Kiriya. That left Taiga and Poppy to fight Saki. Not the worst matchup, at the very least Poppy had some ranged ability, while Saki would be forced to fight close up entirely. Although, Taiga wished he had a weapon of some kind, they should still be able to fight Saki easily enough.

Maybe it was irony, she was fighting the two who had known her the longest, not that such a thing meant much, when you’re fighting someone. Taiga could remember vividly the young woman from six years ago, crying because the one she loved had died. Disappeared because Taiga couldn’t save him. Her quiet promise that she wouldn’t let anyone else experience such a loss.

He wondered what happened to her. Wondered what could convince her to abandon that path, that goal that had been her guiding beacon in the darkness after Hiro’s death. The very reason she’d become a Rider in the first place. He wondered why it was her doing this, not someone else. Someone like him who had nothing left to lose, when she still had so much.

Not that it mattered. They were fighting each other, now, and little would change that. Not unless something extreme happened, it seemed. It was unlikely she’d just decide to return to them, no, she had a reason she’d joined Masamune and a reason she was staying.

Something was off about her fighting, though. With every swing of her sword and every movement, she seemed to wince, seemed to be in pain. He couldn’t recall her getting injured during their last fight, and even then, it wouldn’t have been enough to still be bothering her now. So something else must have happened, but what? Had Masamune done something to her?

Beyond that, there was also the way that she was fighting even more half-heartedly than before. Before, Taiga could write it off, but with each fight, it seemed to become more and more clear that… Saki didn’t really want to fight them. Now, either because of whatever injury she must have had, or something else…

Taiga and Poppy were easily able to knock her out of her transformation, Saki falling to the ground as the Gashat Gear Dual clattered beside her. Wincing, she starts to push herself up when Taiga calls out, “Why, Saki?”

She hesitates for a moment, before asking, “Why what?” Her voice was distant, sad and hurt.

“Why did you join Masamune?”

Saki reaches the point she’s sitting on her knees, her back to them. “I… have a duty to protect my patient, don’t I?” She answers in the same distant and sad tone as before. With a bitter, painful, laugh, she continues, “What does it matter, though? I’ve made my choice, there’s nothing any of us can do about it.”

“Saki…” Poppy quietly says, “You don’t have to do this. You can leave Masamune, come back with us to the CR.”

For a moment, Taiga thinks that Saki might really agree. She shakes, pulling herself to her feet with a wince. Turning slightly to face them, there are tears in her eyes, “I can’t,” She says, “I can’t leave Emu.”

It’s not that Taiga want’s to be angry with Saki, but he can’t help the bitter and harsh tone his next comment takes, “He went back with Kiriya because of you.”

“I know,” she whispers, looking away. “It’s my fault he’s in this mess. I can’t leave him, now.”

Once more, Poppy tries to plead with Saki, “We can save Emu, Saki. Just come back, or at least work with us. We can find a way to get him away from Masamune and to safety.”

“…I…”

Before Saki could continue, she’s cut off by the arrival of Parad, with Kiriya following short behind. “Come on Brave,” Parad says, grabbing Saki by the shoulder and causing her to flinch. He sounds annoyed and his actions are a bit aggressive, “Let’s get out of here.”

Taiga and Poppy couldn’t stop them, and were forced to watch them leave, wondering just what was going on. At the very least, Taiga was certain that Saki didn’t really want to work for Masamune, at least.

---

When Saki get’s back, Emu’s not exactly the most aware of his surroundings. He had crawled onto the bed, pulling a blanket up to cover him, the most recent experiment having left him feeling worse than normal. It wasn’t the worst he’d experienced, sure, but he was hoping to rest a bit and recover before Saki got back. He hadn’t liked that she had been forced to go fight even with her burn, but there wasn’t much either of them could do about it.

Saki’s return wasn’t immediately noticed, not until he heard her quietly whisper his name. That was when he rolled over to face her, sitting up.

“You’re… back.” He notes, trying not to sound so out of it. He fails.

She examines him for a moment, “Are you alright?”

Shakily, Emu nods, “I… I’m just a bit… iffy. From the… experiment.”

“Emu…” She whispers once more, sounding so sad and worried. “It’ll be alright, you should get some sleep.”

Instead of responding to that, Emu changes the subject, sliding out of bed, “You aren’t… aren’t too hurt form the- the fight, a-are you?”

“I’m fine, Emu, you should really get some-“ Before Saki can finish, the door opens. In walks Masamune, surprisingly.

Usually, they were brought to him, not him coming to them. Emu’s stomach falls and he warily watches Masamune. What was he here for? What would he do? Emu was worried. Not for himself, no, there’s not point in being worried for himself. He’s worried for Saki. Something’s wrong.

As predicted, Masamune looked at Saki, “Taddle Fantasy, why did you not use that Gashat I gave you?” Emu wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but judging by Saki’s expression, she knew exactly what he was referring to.

“If… Level 50 had such a strain, I was worried about the strain that a stronger Gashat would have,” Saki answers, “I… don’t think I would be able to take it with the state I’m in.”

While that was a perfectly reasonable answer, Masamune did not seem to agree. Then again, he rarely agreed with reasonable answers. His face quickly turned angry, and Emu could tell he was going to hurt Saki.

With her screams from the branding still so fresh in his mind, Emu moves forward, putting himself in front of Saki. “Don’t,” He nearly begged, “Haven’t you already hurt her enough?”

Emu’s words only seemed to annoy Masamune more, “Maximum Mighty X, you are in no position to decide that.” Before Emu can try to say anything else, a blur of events happened.

First, Masamune raises his hand, next, Emu’s shoved to the side, and third, a resounding smacking sound is heard, echoing across the room. In front of him, Saki stands, having taken Masamune’s slap, a hand held against her face.

She narrows her eyes at Masamune, “You… you said you… wouldn’t hurt him…” She sways, her words slow, like she was having a hard time thinking. A moment later, Emu’s lunging forward, barely managing to catch her as she collapsed.

There’s a red mark where the slap had landed on her cheek, and her eyes seem unfocused, occasionally squinting a little. Then, her eyes close as small areas of glitching began to appear. Emu can only stare in horror, before finally finding his voice and looking up at Masamune, “What did you do?” His voice is small and his throat is tight. He’s so, so, scared.

“I infected her with Game Disease,” Masamune informs him, appearing almost smug. “Soon enough, she will disappear, like her fiancé.” With that, he turns and leaves. From outside the door, Emu can barely see Lazer, an unreadable expression on his face.

Emu gives him a pleading look.

Then he looks down at Saki in his arms, bringing her over to the bed, with some struggle. He doesn’t know how, but he knows he has to do something.

A hand reaches for his, drawing his attention. Saki gives him a weak smile. Emu wants to say something, but all he can choke out is a quiet, “I wish-“ There was so much he wished. That they were somewhere better, that she wasn’t infected, that none of this had happened.

“I know,”

---

Nico would be lying if she said that everything was fine. Everything was far from fine. It wasn’t just the worry over Emu, or the confusion on what exactly was going on with Saki. It was the absolute disaster that this all was. But they would have to keep doing their best, doing what they could. It was all they were really able to do.

She’s the first one to enter the CR in the morning, which means she’s the first to find the note sitting on the table. Kuroto appears to have not moved from his spot on the couch, laptop already open, Graphite was glowering in the corner, and Poppy was in her cabinet. Taiga’s entering the CR, not far behind her.

Picking up the note, she asks, “Hey, who left this?”

That prompts Kuroto to look up for a moment, squinting, before shrugging and returning his attention to his laptop. Poppy pops out of her cabinet and answers, “I don’t know…”

So Nico decides to read the note, out loud because it’s quicker.

“From one friend to another, there’s something you should know. Doctor Momose is in a bad condition right now, she’s very sick, and Emu Hojo is only a little better off. You can find them in an otherwise empty room at Gemn Corp, third floor, down the left hallway and fifth door on the right, the one with no windows into the room. Come sometime between two PM and three PM, Masamune will be in a meeting and the Bugsters will be out. Be quick and quiet, though you won’t like what you see.” There was no signature on the note, though it looked to be written on several sticky notes, stuck together, and with a two separate and presumably random pens (some of it was written in black ink, while the other half was in blue).

Taiga huffs, “Sounds like a trap.”

Yet Nico couldn’t help but disagree, “I think we should go. Any chance that we could help them…” She shakes her head, “Besides, I recognize the handwriting.”

Poppy frowned ever so slightly, “Then who is it from?”

Pursing her lips, Nico answered, “Like they said, a friend.”

#kamen rider ex aid #kamen rider exaid #kamen rider #my writing #there is a me who can become strong

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cheladyn · 6 years

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Some thoughts on Some Thoughts on Capital-D Dance

Here's an essay I wrote for my SA 304 (Social Control) class summer 2018.

***********

Before I get into it, I must give you some context into why I chose the document “Some Thoughts on Capital-D Dance.” So, I am an artist, specifically, a dance artist. I went to dance schools in Montreal and Vancouver while simultaneously pursuing my social science degree; now, on the tail end of my degree, I am an emerging professional dance artist with a practice that spans choreographing, performing, producing, and collaborating. As it tends to happen, I’ve been through some shit by way of being part of the dance world, and it has left me with a notable unease about dance, dancing, and dance-making; love is often uneasy. My dance career things rarely comes up in a university classroom; I still have stupid answers for when I try to explain that making dance is really cool and really important. Nonetheless, through my university studies I’ve gained the skills and language to think critically about my unease. So, while I go into this analysis with a focus on what this document does in terms of control, I also bring my own baggage into this and draw on experience to situate and analyze this text.

Tara Sheena’s text, “Some Thoughts on Capital-D Dance” generally addresses the topic of control in dance through her experience of being a dance artist. The text is intense and rich, offering insight into the particular relations of power a North American contemporary dancer may find themselves in. Texts that get their fingers into the knots of dance are important to me, and this text, in all its haphazardness, encapsulates the complexity of control in dance. I have an embodied understanding of what Sheena conceptualizes in her work, but I fear I do not have the rhetorical skill to really show what lies between the lines of her writing. In this paper, I will argue that the text “Some Thoughts on Capital-D Dance” by Tara Sheena theorizes control – following Chunn and Gavigan (1988) – as coercive. Additionally, I will discuss the excess of Sheena’s text that both decreases the force of the concept “capital-D Dance”, and glosses over the fundamental process of movement in its process of constructing a self. Finally, I will conclude with a brief discussion on where I feel my analysis falls short and how the concept of capital-D Dance could be fleshed out.

GESTURES OF CONTROL

In Dorothy Chunn and Shelley Gavigan’s work “Social Control: analytical tool or analytical quagmire?” (1988), the concept of control is unpacked in attempts to better understand the “hegemony of the concept” (109) as grounded in academic literature in the 20th century. Cunn and Gavigan define two formulations of control: benign and coercive (Chunn and Gavigan, 1988: 108). Benign control is theorized through an assumption that harmony is achieved with “non-institutionalized mechanisms of social control” such as socialization, and without relying on external discipline (1988: 108). On the other hand (but still the same body), the coercive formulation of control relies on the belief that “coercive state control mechanisms, particularly law, play the most crucial role in reproducing the status quo” coercive (1988: 108). In both formulations of control, Chunn and Gavigan note that historical processes involved in the processes of control are ignored and the outcomes are determined; conceptualizations of control perpetually lack a “focus on historically-specific types of state or political regimes” (1988: 110). Focusing on the coercive formulation here, it is important to note that coercive control regards the state as omnipotent, as an “advocate of the ‘best interests’ of citizens,” and as deeply concealing “liberal democratic, capitalist social formations” (1988: 110). In essence, control that is theorized as coercive places a centralized, but vague source of power at the causal beginning of issues of social formation and function. This is also grounded in a belief of control being bad (1988: 112).

Theorizing, formulating, or conceptualizing control as coercive is not the same as speaking of methods, techniques, or types of control. For Cunn and Gavigan, such an activity does not “apprehend or address the ideological character of the processes [of control]” (1988: 115), rather, it “reproduces an image of society in which there is both a simple bifurcation… and an implied continuum between [formulations of control].” (1988:115) This simultaneous bifurcation and continuum reifies one’s relationship to the state and the concept of power as hierarchical, oppressive, determined (or lacking agency), and vague. Furthermore, conceptualizing oneself as being controlled, or within regimes of control ignores the social construction of the reality and relationship of control mechanisms with behaviours and actions that reproduce the divide.

Tara Sheena’s text, “Some Thoughts on Capital-D Dance”, expounds a coercive model of control that emphasizes a centralized control mechanism in the maintenance of the status quo. For Sheena, there is a key thing that exerts control to structure relations of power between dominant and marginalized dance practices. At first, Sheena identifies language that serves as the thing, a culprit for this hierarchy: “language creates distinctions, sharpens separations, widens divides. Language, like dance, makes our stories replicable. It means narratives—however false, oppressive, savage—can, and will, continue.” (Sheena, 2017) Later on in the text “the privilege of white artists”, the “dance traditions that are steeped in racist, ableist practices”, and the technical skills of ballet (Sheena, 2017) constitute the center of control. Finally, it is the lack of capital (or the low wages) that serve to control a stable conception of dance (or Dance). This centralized force remains vague but omnipotent in the guiding of behaviour through a strategic deployment of resources and thus the value of what Sheena calls “prestige” in the dance milieu; and “prestige” comes with “authority” in capital-D Dance:

The well-built façade surrounding the concept was enough to pique my attachment—beauty, safety, accomplishment, fame. “Capital-D Dance” circles certain truths that seem near- absurd to covet inside the knotty traditions of experimental dance; not because those ideals aren’t real or haven’t become understood as “real,” but because the concept of capital-anything in dance is a false equivalency. (Sheena, 2017)

Capital-D Dance remains antithesis to what Sheena seems to desire dance to be, and ultimately a bad force that renders resistance futile. This force of capital-D dance is situated in Sheena’s text in a way similar to the law for Cunn and Gavigan. Chunn and Gavigan recognize coercive formulations of control place the law as an institutionalization of control, where its role is only as an instrument of power and not a place of meaningful social struggle (Chunn and Gavigan, 1988: 118). If I were to replace “the law” with Sheena’s “capital-D Dance”, the sentiment remains the same: capital-D Dance, and perhaps even dance at large, is not a place where identity, subjectivity, narratives, epistemologies, etc. can be negotiated time and time again, in new and weird ways. Rather, dance, in its institutionalization, can only be a mechanism of control.

In line with Chunn and Gavigan’s description of coercive control, Sheena’s text approaches every institution as wanting to make all dancers docile and malleable to the control of capital-D Dance. This skepticism or distrust of institutions is spread to the racism and ableism Sheena identifies as the roots of current Eurocentric dance traditions.

"…there is activism, subversion, an urge to intellectualize everything over experience anything, skepticism. There is a lot to do and very little time to do it. There is attention to skeletal systems, somatic systems, neurological systems, endocrine systems, economic systems, public transit systems, educational systems, communication systems, social media systems, electronic systems, manual systems, systemic systems. We live, sweat, eat, complain, and strive in community together." (Sheena, 2017)

Each of these “systems” mentioned correlate to an institution or infrastructure that gives rise to the professional dancer and preserves the infrastructure of capital-D Dance. Yet, no matter the specificity Sheena offers with these systems or institutions, control remains vague and the dancer is perpetually subject to “its” coercive, ahistorical, and struggle-less rule.

WHAT DOES THE TEXT DO?

While Sheena’s text can be understood as speaking into a certain theorization of control, her text exceeds such conceptualizations and contributes to a discourse that cultivates embodied subjects. By exceeding the concept of control as coercive, I mean that Sheena continues to add layers of signification to “capital-D Dance” beyond an illusion entity of control, and thus reducing its force or its signifying power; “the meaning of the word breaks down since it now designates [many] entirely different things” (Latour, 2008: 2). “Capital-D Dance”, by the end of Sheena’s text, signifies the institutions of medicine, biology, human geography, economics, government, city planning, “arts & culture”, it signifies a bad force that is either hard or impossible to resist, it signifies other polysemous signifiers such as “prestige” and “authority”, and it signifies a seemingly stable hierarchy between dominant and marginal dance practices. It also folds in the dual meaning of “capital” where Dance involves money, material resources of production (such as skilled and technical bodies, and wages) as well as visibility or cultural and social capital. In such an excess, the term Dance “begins to mean a type of material” (Latour, 2008: 2), it becomes an adjective and “replaces the object to be studied by another matter made of social relations” (Latour 2008: 9). In other words, Sheena ends up speaking about the social relations of Dance, rather than what dance is or does (social relations are definitely part of dance, or Dance, but what about moving bodies? Or the performing bodies bodies?).

Susan Leigh Foster writes: “I know the body only through its response to the methods of techniques used to cultivate it” (Foster, 2003: 235). Such a statement alludes to the negotiations that an embodied subject, or an individual pursuing physical-culture goals, practices in the “regulations that govern posture, etiquette, and comportment, and what is dubiously titled ‘non-verbal communication’” (2003: 236). Such a statement also means that an “I” arises out of physical and embodied techniques of cultivation; a certain sort of “self” will emerge through certain sorts of training. Foster describes this process:

The daily practical participation of a body in any of these disciplines makes of it a body-of-ideas. Each discipline refers to it using select metaphors and other tropes that make it over. These tropes may be drawn from anatomical discourse or the science of kinesiology; or they may liken the body to a machine, an animal, or any other worldly object or event. They may be articu- lated as verbal descriptions of the body and its actions, or as physical actions that show it how to behave. Whether worded or enacted, these tropes change its meaning by re-presenting it. (Foster, 2003: 236)

Bodies, selves, ideas, identities, all emerge out of embodied practices, and dance is not exempt from this formulation because it is rooted in the process and practice of moving, training, presenting, representing, cultivating, and watching bodies express or communicate something. By homing in on the point of capital, Sheena collapses the possibility for the experience, the practice, and the making of dance to be a meaningful site of struggle and negotiation. The process of becoming through being a dancer is, to me, the most important (and troublesome) facet of dance and still the least recognized; for Sheena to exclude this in her carving out of a conceptualization of control and oppressive power in capital-D Dance perpetuates the process of glossing over what selves and subjects emerge in the discipline of dance.

CONCLUSION

In this paper I have shown that Tara Sheena’s text, “Some Thoughts on Capital-D Dance” conforms to Chunn and Gavigan’s understanding of the coercive conceptualization of control. Sheena describes the force of capital-D Dance to exercise power from a centralized mechanism where control remains vague and the perceived goal of such control is to render individuals docile and malleable. I also discussed the excess of Sheena’s text that placed her thoughts beyond the confines of a coercive conceptualization of control and into a polysemous (and still vague) conceptualization of the use or value of dance. Finally, I showed how Sheena excluded the facet of dance, as a physical and embodied process, that creates selves and subjects through certain emphases of language.

My analysis worked with Chunn and Gavigan’s text superficially wherein I went for breadth more than depth; similarly, I included Latour in my analysis so minimally that he was barely here. Considering that Sheena calls on language explicitly as a controlling force. Including more Latour would have shifted the analysis toward the concept of capital-D Dance. This analysis, in focusing on the established literature of control Chunn and Gavigan’s outline, went in an unexpected direction that slipped beneath the common discourse that I understand Sheena to be speaking from/in. Had I felt more confident in my understanding of control as an analytic and conceptual tool, I would have danced around my argument and evidence less.

While I understand the notion of capital-D Dance in my flesh (and blood and tears), I believe it to be important to put these things into words because fixing a phenomenon in language facilitates a type of analysis that holds more credibility than, for example, a dancing body. Capital-D Dance, as a concept, could benefit from more description of the movement that grounds; what does it look like (or feel like) to feel on the opposite side of Dance? How does one move knowing they don’t get a lot of money from the project, or knowing they can making a living wage? This analysis was a step towards parsing through such questions, questions that don’t and won’t escape my embodied practice for some time to come.

References

Chunn, Dorothy E., and Shelley A. M. Gavigan. 1988. “Social Control: Analytical Tool or Analytical Quagmire?” Contemporary Crises, vol. 12, no. 2, 107–124

Foster, Susan Leigh. 2003 “Dancing Bodies.” Meaning in Motion: New Cultural Studies of Dance, edited by Jane Desmond, 235–257. Duke University Press.

Latour, Bruno. 2008. Reassembling the Social: an Introduction to Actor-Network-Theory. Oxford Univ. Press.

Sheena, Tara. 2017. “Some Thoughts on Capital-D Dance.” Movement Research, movementresearch.org/publications/critical-correspondence/some-thoughts-on-capital-d-dance.

#school #essay #academic #dance #control

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ruminativerabbi · 3 years

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This Week in Israel

There are two ways to approach this week’s decision by the Supreme Court of Israel regarding conversions to Judaism undertaken by non-Orthodox Jewish groups: as a big deal and as not such a big deal.

The not-such-a-big-deal approach would have to be rooted in a narrow appraisal of what actually happened: the court voted that, with regard to their right to Israeli citizenship under the Law of Return, the Ministry of the Interior does not have the right to distinguish between individuals who convert to Judaism based on the specific rabbinic group that oversaw their conversion…and that this obligation not to discriminate between converts applies even if the conversion in question took place in Israel itself. That last sentence will require some unpacking for at least some, but the underlying idea is simple enough: the Ministry had been obliged by law for decades to respect the conversions of converts from all denominational streams within Judaism if those conversions took place outside Israel. Weirdly, though, this entirely reasonable policy was denied people who convert to Judaism in Israel itself, where the right of the ultra-Orthodox to control those instruments of government that determine matters of personal status—marriage, divorce, Jewishness, etc.—has practically gone without saying since the state was founded seventy-three years ago. On top of that (in the weirdness scale, at least) is the fact that we are, at the end of the day, speaking about only very few people: there aren’t that many non-Jews in Israel who are interested in conversion and the Masorti movement, as the Conservative movement is called in Israel, and the Reform movement together only convert between thirty and forty individuals in a given calendar year. So it’s not like the decision is going to affect a lot of people or alter the fabric of Israeli society in any meaningful way. Why then, the naïve outside observer might wonder, is everybody reacting so strongly to this week’s decision?

It’s a good question. For one thing, the matter has been simmering on the back-burner for a long time. (Click here, e.g., to read a New York Times article from 2005 about the original court case relating to conversions outside of Israel.) But it’s also true that civil rights issues—both as played out in the court of public opinion and as tried in real court—are often so narrow in scope as to sound petty or even unimportant…other than to those who realize the potential implications and ramifications of the decision the public or the court is being challenged to reach. (To cite an American example, it would be missing the point almost entirely to think that all that legal wrangling in the 1960s about desegregating lunch counters or public buses was about luncheonettes and buses, as opposed to being about the larger issues they represented with respect to the civil rights of Black Americans.) And that is, I think, what we have here: a Supreme Court decision that will affect fewer than four dozen people in the course of an average year, but which has ramifications for Israeli society that will extend far beyond the narrow scope of decision itself.

As though they were actors stepping out from the wings to recite the speeches an unseen playwright put in their mouths, the various spokespeople for the various segments of the Israeli population duly appeared in one media-context or another to deliver their pre-assigned soliloquies. The Israeli Chief Rabbinate, a group wholly under the sway of the ultra-Orthodox, was almost sputteringly speechless in its dismay, predicting the imminent collapse of Israeli society if even one single convert to Judaism who hadn’t committed fully to a hareidi lifestyle were ever to be permitted to slip past the gatekeepers. For their part, of course, the spokespeople for Masorti and Reform Judaism were on-line instantly to express their delight. And the largest secular civil rights organizations also spoke uniformly approvingly of the decision. I even noted some actual converts to Judaism putting their two p’rutot in and expressing their gratitude to the court for its decision enabling them to live as they choose in a free country that, at least in theory, has always guaranteed the equality of its citizens before the law.

As is always the case, however, there are several elephants in the room.

The first is that the Supreme Court decision affects the Ministry of the Interior only and requires that it, as a branch of the government, not distinguish arbitrarily between individuals based on data deemed by the court to be extraneous to the adjudication of their situations. What that means practically is that the Supreme Court decision does not oblige the Rabbinate itself to consider converts outside of Orthodoxy as valid Jewish people—and in a county where there is no such thing as civil marriage and Jews can only marry with the approval of the Rabbinate, that matters a lot. (There isn’t even civil burial in Israel: the cemeteries and the Burial Societies that serve them are too in the hands of the Rabbinate.) So these handful of converts, whose status with respect to matters handled by the Ministry of the Interior has now been settled, still have a Sisyphean task before them if they wish to do any of the various things most Israelis take for granted, among them getting married and having the government recognize the union, getting divorced and being enabled to re-marry, dying and being buried in a Jewish cemetery. So it wouldn’t be that wrong to say that this week’s decision creates, rather than heals, an important schism in Israeli society by creating a class of civil Jews who have the formal status, but only very few of the basic rights, Jews born to the faith take for granted. So that’s one of the elephants in the room, known to all but mentioned, as far as I could see, by almost none in the wake of this week’s decision.

And then there are the Russians. This is huge. Over a million Jews from the former Soviet Union have immigrated to Israel since 1989 and today those immigrants and their descendants constitute more than 15% of Israel’s population. The detail that distinguishes the Russians and other FSU types from other large immigrant groups in Israeli society like Jews from Iraq or Yemen is that something like a full quarter are not considered Jewish by the Chief Rabbinate. There are a lot of reasons for that, mostly related to the fact that Jewish life was suppressed for so long under the Communism that there were relatively few Jewish families that remained fully intact and intermarriage with non-Jews was rife for decades. Layered over that fact is the reality that many of these people—most of them, in fact—have been living in Israel for decades now, speak fluent Hebrew, have served in the IDF, and think of themselves as “real” Israelis. Except that the Chief Rabbinate refuses them the right to marry, to be buried in Jewish cemeteries, etc. No one seems sure how to fix the problem either—nor does this week’s Supreme Court decision go very far towards finding a solution since it only affects the policies of the Interior Ministry and the immigrants from the FSU are all citizens anyway.

The closest parallel for Americans to consider is the one between these immigrants from the FSU and the undocumented immigrants in our own country. Everybody agrees that having 11 million undocumented souls living in our midst but not paying taxes, not paying into the Social Security system, not feeling free to phone 911 if they are in danger, not participating in national or local elections—the one thing upon which everybody seems to agree is that the status quo is intolerable and has to be addressed. But how exactly to address it is a different question entirely. The notion of rounding up all 11 million people living illegally in this country and deporting them to wherever it is they came from in the first place is an idea that appeals to many in theory, but lacks any real practical possibility of ever happening. The ideas put forward by the current administration, and particularly by Alejandro Mayorkas, Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security, seem to presuppose that the only real solution is to find a path for these people to seek citizenship that would involve some level of catch-up (for example, paying taxes on money earned in the U.S. during their time here but on which they never paid income tax) and would exclude criminals. Eventually, we have to deal—one way or the other—with these millions and millions of people!

And the parallel is almost exact: Israel cannot simply look away and ignore the fact that 15% of its Jewish population simply isn’t Jewish enough for the Chief Rabbinate. (That they are considered more than Jewish enough to serve in the IDF only adds fuel to the fire.) And the only practical solution has to do with conversion: since these people were already not born Jewish, at least not technically, a procedure has to be evolved for them formally to embrace Judaism and solve the problem that way. Since such a solution would almost definitely have to involve the more liberal denominations whose understanding of religion in general and Judaism in particular are more sophisticated, more scholarly, and more intellectually and historically justifiable than the extremist Orthodoxy of the Chief Rabbinate, the Supreme Court decision this week speaks indirectly to that whole set of issues by bestowing the mantle of legitimacy—if not in the eyes of the Rabbinate, then at least in the eyes of the State—on people who convert through movements more given over to the principles of tolerance, non-judgmentalism, pluralism, and intellectual integrity.

So those are the two elephants hiding in full sight for most Israelis. And that is why this week’s Supreme Court decision not only matters, but has the potential to be truly transformative in the effort to create a kind of Israeli Judaism that rejects the kind of know-nothing fundamentalism that is the hallmark of the kind of Judaism represented by the Chief Rabbinate and in its place embraces a version of Judaism rooted in acceptance, fairness, tolerance, and spiritual integrity.

#Israel #Conversion #Masorti

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